Repentance
by Gingham
Summary: Six months after leaving for England, Phryne returns, determined to ignore the man who never came after her. But on her arrival she finds a very different Melbourne, one rocked by abduction, murder and a failed police investigation. Determined to find out the truth, Phryne embarks on her biggest challenge yet: bringing Jack Robinson back from the abyss. Set after 3x08
1. Chapter 1

_Notes:_

My first multi chapter fic ... here goes!

This is set after 3X08 and explores why Jack didn't come after Phryne.

Later chapters will include graphic descriptions of violence, but I will flag and change ratings as and when.

Feedback and critique much appreciated, and thanks to those who have taken the time to review my previous fics :)

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Chapter 1

 _Melbourne, June 1929_

The others stood back as he gave the door a final great kick. It collapsed with a crash and they surged through it.

The first man stopped short and Collins almost crashed into him. He almost muttered a hasty apology before his attention was drawn by the man hanging in the air. A dirty rope twisted slowly from a roof beam. The man's feet circled a slow pirouette above a fallen chair.

Collins swore under breath, and put a fist to his mouth to quell the sudden swelling of rage in his throat. They were too late.

A thump from beside him drew his gaze to the floor. The image before him was as harrowing as the hanging figure.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had dropped to his knees.

()

 _Melbourne, September 1929_

As the blurry shapes on the dock crystallised into familiar figures, Phryne Fisher's heart sank. She chided herself for thinking he would be there. She knew he wouldn't be. Over the last six months, not one telegram had elicited a response. Not one letter had been answered. At first, she had thought that something had happened to him. But queries to her more communicative friends had yielded nothing useful, nothing that could help her understand why he would maintain such a stony silence after their promising farewell at the airfield.

 _"How's Jack? I never hear from him"_ and _"Please, tell me how the Inspector does?"_ had elicited vague responses from Mac and Dot respectively, each hinting at a larger than usual workload. Whilst this might explain his failure to come after her (and to be honest, she never really expected him to do that anyway), it didn't explain his sudden and hurtful silence. Her letters to him had been cheerful and affectionate, and, at least to begin with, full of hope for a new kind of future between them when she returned to Melbourne. But as time wore on, and she could no longer blame the distance between them for his lack of communication, she wrote less and less. Her letters became colder; polite queries after his health and her household, whose wellbeing she had entrusted to him in her absence. He had enough respect for her to fulfil that favour, surely. But there was never any answer. She could only conclude that he had once again decided she was too much trouble. Perhaps spurred on by her admittedly foolhardy flight across the globe, he had decided half a year worrying about her was too much to cope with. He had retreated, again, back to his protective shell. The one that they had spent almost two years unpeeling together.

Furious, she devoted herself to the season in London, throwing herself into the endless parties and dances with gay abandon. Her friends commented on her liveliness, her zest for life which seemed only to have been heightened by a return to England. They started to wonder if she would settle there for good. So did Phryne. After all, Melbourne would be bleak indeed if Jack planned to keep this up. But then she remembered that Phryne Fisher didn't change her plans for anyone. She had a household, friends and family to return to. Jane would be coming back soon. She would return. And she would ignore Jack Robinson as much as he had ignored her.

()

"Phryne!" Mac was the first to embrace her, and Phryne had a strong sense of déjà vu, the scene so similar to the last time she returned to Melbourne. Before she had ever met Jack. The thought brought a surge of rebellious anger into her chest. But then her eyes went to Hugh and Dot, the happiest of newlyweds, and she found she couldn't regret anything about that first case together. It had brought Dot to her, and in turn, Dot to her sweetheart.

"Darlings!" She embraced both of them simultaneously. "How I've missed you all."

"We've missed you too, Miss," Dot whispered into her hair.

Phryne held them both at arm's length. "How is married life? Are you deliriously happy?"

They smiled, but even as she grinned back, Phryne noticed that they both looked tired. Hugh, especially, had dark circles under his eyes. She might have put it down to newfound marital pleasures, but she suspected his boss was working him harder than usual. Another reason to be angry with him.

She put her arms around them as the group made their way to the car, asking questions about their new cottage. Dot spoke with genuine enthusiasm, chatting happily about the little things she had done to make it into a proper home, blushing prettily when she spoke of the decoration in the bedroom. Phryne listened attentively, determined to give Dot her full attention. It was wasted on those who weren't here.

()

By five o' clock that evening, Phryne had been enthusiastically welcomed home. Mac and Hugh had departed shortly after arriving, citing work. Bert and Cec were in the process of hauling her luggage upstairs. Dot and Mr. Butler were washing up champagne glasses whilst Phryne sat at the kitchen table and regaled them with tales of her voyage.

"And what have I missed in Melbourne?" she asked eventually. "I'm afraid I didn't see any Australian news at all." _Because I couldn't,_ she thought, _without thinking about him._

"Nothing out of the ordinary, Miss," Dot answered. But her back was facing Phryne and her voice was slightly higher than normal.

"Dot," Mr. Butler chided gently. "Miss Fisher will find out eventually."

Phryne straightened in her seat, a chill crossing her heart. "What?" She had known something wasn't right, especially with Dot and Hugh.

Dot was looking at Mr. Butler with something approaching anger. "It's over now," she said firmly.

Mr. Butler looked at Phryne uncertainly, and then turned back to the dishes.

"Dot, what is it?" Phryne asked again, the panic rising in her chest. "Is this something to do with Jack?"

Dot nodded. Phryne stood, her hands trembling as she grabbed hold of the table edge. "What's happened? Has he been hurt? For God's sake, tell me!"

"No, Miss, he's alright." Dot rushed to reassure her.

Phryne breathed a sigh of relief but then a low voice rumbled from the doorway. "He's no better than he should be."

Bert stood in the doorway, his hat clutched tightly in an iron grip. His eyes were fixed on Dot. He seemed to be deliberately avoiding Miss Fisher's eyes. A new sort of fear gripped Phryne. What was going on?

"Bert!" Dot's voice was sharp, but Bert stared her out stubbornly.

"What does that mean, Bert?" Phryne was dumbfounded.

Cec stood behind his friend, a calming hand on his shoulder. "Come on, mate. He did his best."

"They both did," Dot interjected angrily.

"Tell that to her mother," Bert grumbled, his eyes still on Dot.

"Whose mother?" cried Phryne. "For God's sake, will someone please tell me what is going on?"

Bert dragged his eyes to her face. She could read in them anger, a wronged sense of justice, and something else. Pity?

He rammed his hat down onto his head and stalked out of the back door, followed by his friend. At the last moment, he turned back to face her.

"I'm sorry, Miss Fisher. I know you always got on well with the Inspector. But if I ever see him again it'll be too soon, and I'm not the only one who sees it that way."

()

Phryne looked after them, stunned. She knew that Jack had never been very popular with the ex-wharfies. But even at the beginning of their association, where relations were at their most strained, the animosity was political, not personal. She had never seen Bert so vocal in his censure of him. And what did he mean about other people seeing it that way?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a strangled sob from Dot. She had evidently been trying to control herself and had finally lost the battle. Gasping an embarrassed apology and pressing a handkerchief to her mouth, she ran from the room.

"Dot!" cried Phryne, making to follow her.

"I think it might be best to leave her be," Mr. Butler said calmly. Phryne jumped. She had almost forgotten he was there, utilising as he had been his uncanny habit of blending into the background.

"Mr. Butler," she said, her voice as measured as it could be. "Would you be able to fill me in on exactly what has been happening whilst I have been away?"

He looked uncomfortable. "I don't think it is my place, Miss."

Phryne's expression went a long way to melting Mr. Butler's heart. It wasn't that he didn't want her to know. She had to know. She'd never rest until she found out every sordid detail, and more than that, maybe her presence could finally begin to soothe the tempers and passions that had been so roused in Melbourne these past few months. And maybe, just maybe, she could reach the Inspector where all of them had tried and failed. _If she can't,_ he thought morosely, _I don't know who can._

But it would be difficult. And maybe a job best done gradually, acclimatising her to the awful truth little by little.

"Please," she pleaded.

He sat down at the table. She sat across from him, her small face steely and determined. "I can tell you some of it," he began. "But most of the experiences in the story are not mine, and you would be best to hear it from those concerned. And please don't think that anyone was trying to keep anything from you, Miss. They were solely concerned for your peace of mind."

"Just give me the gist, please, Mr. Butler. Whatever it is, it can't be worse than what I'm imagining."

Mr. Butler nodded sadly. If only that were the case.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As Mr Butler told the story, he picked up some silver he had been polishing in preparation for her homecoming, and started going over it again. He needed something to do with his hands. He never liked to be idle. As he spoke, Phryne formed an image of him these past few months, in this kitchen, sitting with his silver at the table. In the eye of the storm, in a sense untouched by events that unfolded around him, but part of them all the same.

He told her of the day, not three weeks after Phryne left, that Dottie came in and told him that the body of young girl had been found. She didn't know what exactly had happened, and this had annoyed her at the time. Despite all the detective training she had done with Miss Fisher, Hugh still seemed to find it necessary to keep the details of his cases from her. _"I have more stomach that he gives me credit for,"_ she said at the time. _"After all, I do his laundry now, don't I?"_ Mr. Butler had chuckled at that. He felt bad about it later, how he had spared more thought for Dot's argument with Hugh than the poor nameless little girl.

The next day, the little girl had a name. Celia. And Dot wasn't so angry with Hugh. He had been sorely affected by the crime, Dot said. She'd never seen Hugh or the Inspector so angry. They were determined to find the monster who had carried out this heinous act, one that apparently had no motive other than to hurt, to torture, to kill. The case began to feature in the papers. Mr. Butler read that the little girl, Celia, had been taken whilst playing in the park. There was a quote from Inspector Robinson that all of Melbourne's finest were employed in tracking down the villain. _"He will be found, he will be brought to justice."_

Over the next few days, the murderer remained at large. Dot grew more concerned. Hugh barely came home. She was sure neither him nor the Inspector was eating properly. One morning, she dragged her new husband round to Wardlow, convinced that Mr. Butler's breakfast could entice him into beginning the day with a full stomach. He had barely touched his _eggs hollandaise_ when the Inspector burst in, his jaw set. _"Another girls been taken, Collins. We need to go."_ And with barely a nod to Mr. Butler and Dottie, they had left in a swirl of overcoats and shiny buttons. This time, Mr. Butler was convinced that City South would get their man. After all, they always had before.

The papers were full of the details of the new girl. Her name was Lucy Cosgrove. She was 6 years old. She had also been taken from the park, seemingly from under the watchful eyes of her mother and older sister. Her mother, tearful, bewildered and drawn, was pictured. " _She just disappeared."_ Looking at her distraught face brought Mr. Butler physical pain. It was a thing that no mother should have to go through.

The next day Dot was slightly more cheerful. Hugh and the Inspector were still working hard. But now it was starting to pay off. Through careful questioning of witnesses, it emerged that the same man was on the scene at both disappearances. What's more, he was an unpleasant character, known to the police. He had even served time for abduction and assault. When Hugh called Dot to tell her an arrest had been made, Mr. Butler breathed a sigh of relief. The city was safe.

But the next day dawned and there was still no news. The prisoner was denying all knowledge of the girls. And Lucy was still nowhere to be seen.

The next day Dot hadn't seen Hugh at all. And by the next, it was all over.

The papers were full of it. A bungled investigation, they said. The prisoner in custody was innocent after all. His presence at the park had been a mere coincidence. And after all that questioning, all that work, it was a chance tip off that finally led them to Lucy. Someone had seen a young girl being carried in to an old office block under the cover of night. By the time the Inspector and Hugh got there, it was too late. Lucy had been dead for two days.

There was more to come, though now it seemed to happen beyond Mr. Butler's reach, as if events had spun out of the control of his characters. A hurried investigation of the office blocks former employees had led to a derelict house in Collingwood. And there, hanging by the neck in an upstairs room, was Mr. Alfred Devlin, unemployed clerk, local recluse, and murderer of two young girls. He had finally been found. But he had denied Melbourne its justice.

The case had finally finished three months ago. Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had been suspended from duty ever since.

()

A silence fell in the kitchen. Phryne stared at Mr. Butler with unseeing eyes.

"I have to see him," she said eventually. Her voice was dull. She was scared to move, to raise her voice or do anything that would allow the tumult of emotions building up inside her to burst forth.

How hard he would have taken this. She knew how much each of his cases meant to him, how heavily he felt the responsibility on his shoulders. He would have worked like a demon to find this man, Hugh alongside him. She knew him. He wouldn't have slept, or eaten. But his mind would have remained sharp and focussed, working away at the case with a determined vigour she knew well.

She blinked back tears as she imagined how he must have felt when she realised the suspect he had spent two days questioning was innocent after all. And that last dash to the crime scene. Had he known she was already dead? Or did he maintain a shred of hope that he could save her, only to have it crumble around him when he found her small lifeless body?

It was horribly unfair that he had been suspended. Phryne knew he would have done everything in his power to find her. Worse, though, was the fact that this once upstanding and respected servant of the law had been vilified in the press, whipping Melbourne into a frenzy of rage that had turned even Bert (and who knew who else?) against him. It was so unfair. Jack didn't need the cities blame. He would blame himself enough for everyone. She knew him.

"I have to see him," she repeated, louder.

Mr Butler put a kind hand on hers. "He hasn't been the most receptive to us," he explained. "Dot and Hugh have tried very hard to look after him."

She blinked. Of course they would have. "Where's Dot?"

"She left."

Phryne hadn't heard the door. But of course she would have left. She needed to get home and make dinner. In the shock of what she had heard, Phryne had forgotten that she didn't live here anymore.

"I need to speak with her." She got up and headed for the door.

Mr Butler stopped her. "Miss, let them have their dinner in peace. Why don't you wash up, have a lie down. Let me make you something to eat. You must be starving and exhausted."

Phryne closed her eyes. She couldn't eat, but she was dog tired. Perhaps a nap, to get her head straight. But no. Her eyes snapped open again. She couldn't let Jack carry on without her.

Mr Butler seemed to read her mind. "He's waited three months, Miss. He can wait a little longer. Why don't you have a rest, speak to Dot and Hugh, make sure you get the whole picture and work out the best way to approach him."

"I don't know…" She felt an unwelcome and unfamiliar uncertainty settle on her.

"It's not going to be easy, Miss. Believe me, you'll need all your energy."

She nodded slowly, and allowed Mr Butler to propel her up the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

Notes:

A slight admission here, I have really no knowledge of the police complaints/inquiry procedure in 1920s Melbourne, so I hope you can all forgive me playing a bit fast and loose with the details!

Thank you all those who have left feedback, I really appreciate it. And thanks for sticking with me so far! :)

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 **Chapter 3**

Phryne awoke to the unfamiliar sound of birdsong and for a moment she strained to hear the noise of the sea. Her legs stretched out further than she thought they could. It was only then she realised she was no longer on board her berth on the ship. Her mind seemed to crackle at the edges, a memory kindling something deep in her sleep-addled brain before it burst, with spontaneous fire, to the front.

"Jack!"

She almost shouted his name as she sat bolt upright in bed.

"Oh god." A wave of contrition swept over her as she looked at the clock by her bed. Nine o'clock. She had slept all through the night. She had meant to nap for a couple of hours before going to question Dot and Hugh. Never mind that she had been exhausted from the voyage. This was inexcusable.

She leapt out of bed, throwing her robe around her.

She collided with Mr Butler and her breakfast tray on the stairs.

"I'm sorry, Miss."

"Mr Butler, is Dot here?"

"This is her day off, Miss."

"Oh, of course." Phryne had lost all track of days and times. "I must go and see her." She turned on her heel and ran back up the staircase.

"Your breakfast, Miss?" Mr Butler called.

"No time, Mr Butler!"

Her bedroom door slammed shut.

()

In the Collins household, Dot had just finished a lonely breakfast. She stood in their small but well-proportioned kitchen, washing up the dishes.

Hugh had still been at work when she returned home the previous evening, which was lucky. Although she hated it when he worked the late shift, at least it meant he hadn't seen how upset she had been when she got back from Miss Fishers.

The last few months had been gruelling for the newlyweds. First there came the trauma of the investigation. Hugh had taken it so hard. Dot had found it more and more difficult to look after him. And with Miss Fisher absent, she felt a great deal of responsibility for the Inspector's wellbeing too. But neither of them seemed to want her help. They had been spun into a whirlwind of action, a race that took them towards its fateful conclusion barely allowing them chance to breathe. And then there was the aftermath. Although the press (and by extension, the people) had directed its vitriol about the case principally towards the Inspector, Hugh and the other City South officers hadn't escaped entirely. There wasn't a day that went past that some hostile mob wasn't camped outside the station, or some ruffian didn't throw rotten fruit, or worse, at the windows. She felt almost aggrieved at the Inspector, getting to sit at home in peace and quiet as Hugh faced the rage of the city day in and day out.

But deep down she knew that wasn't fair. The Inspector had taken the failure of the investigation worse than anyone. She remembered seeing his face when she went to find Hugh that day, the day they finally found poor Lucy. He had stared through her as if she wasn't there. Whilst Hugh had grabbed her hand tightly, his face red and tear stained, the Inspector had stood in the middle of his office, statue like, staring at the wall. Dot had been too scared to go in and ask if he was alright, but he looked out at her, with unseeing yet desperate eyes. Dot wondered if maybe he had been looking for someone else, if in his pain he had forgotten that she was on the other side of the world. It had only been a week or so later that Hugh had told her, with an anger that had almost scared her, that his boss and mentor had been suspended from duty pending an official inquiry.

A rap on the door dragged her from her thoughts. She wheeled round to see Miss Fisher's face at the back door, and hurried over to unlock it.

"Miss!"

"Hello, Dot." Miss Fisher was dressed impeccably as always, in a navy cloche and a long blue and white patterned coat. But there was a tightness around her smile and a slight lack of attention to her make up that signalled not all was well.

"Come in, Miss."

"Thank you." Phryne stepped indoors and looked around at the bright kitchen, decorated with sunny yellow wallpaper and neatly arranged with everything in its place.

"What a lovely kitchen, Dot!"

"Thank you," Dot looked round with pride. "I would give you the full tour, Miss, but Hugh is still asleep. He's working the late shift at the moment."

"Of course."

"Please, have some tea?" Dot indicated a seat at a small wooden table.

Phryne sat down. "Thank you."

Dot busied herself with a teapot. A silence grew between them, unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Phryne hardly knew where to begin. Dot had seemed so upset yesterday.

Dot set the teapot down on the table and sat down. "I'm sorry about yesterday," she said, all in a rush. "I know it must have seemed strange. Bert just… well, he upset me a little."

"I could see that. And please don't apologise."

"Did Mr Butler…?"

"He told me about the case, yes."

"Oh, Miss," Dot could feel tears springing to her eyes again. "It was so awful."

Phryne reached out. "Dear Dot," she said. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"He told us not to."

"Who did? Jack?"

Dot nodded tearfully. "And Dr. Macmillan agreed. She said there was nothing you could do from England so there was no point in worrying you."

"What?" Phryne's hand clenched into a fist on the table. She swallowed her anger. How could Mac have said such a thing? She made a mental note to have a frank conversation with her friend at the earliest opportunity.

"I would have come back," she said, more to herself than Dot. "I would have come back for this, for him."

"I'm sorry, Miss."

Phryne didn't seem to notice Dot's slight frown. "It's not your fault, Dot. Now, have you seen him? Have you talked to him? How is he?"

Dot turned her attention to the teapot, pouring them both a cup. When she answered it was with a certain stiffness. "We saw him last week. He's much the same."

"The same, but what is that, Dot?" a note of panic entered Phryne's voice. "I don't know how he is, I haven't seen him for six months!"

Dot's expression softened. "I can't lie to you Miss, he's not in a good way. It's like… it's like all the fight has gone out of him. He just stays in his house all the time."

Phryne, unable to keep still, rose and started pacing the small kitchen. "How long is this suspension supposed to last?"

"There's an official inquiry. They think the Inspector might have been negligent in his duty."

Phryne almost laughed. "Jack? Negligent? That's preposterous. Why has it taken so long?"

"There was a witness who had gone overseas," Dot said. "The one who saw the poor girl being carried into the building. There seems to have been some confusion about his statement but I think it's cleared up now. After the first month, they said the Inspector could go back until the hearing made the final decision, but…" She swallowed. "I don't think he wanted to. Not until it was certain that it wasn't his fault."

"Of course it wasn't his fault!"

"The final hearing is on Thursday," Dot continued. It was in two days' time. "I hope… we all hope that will be an end to it. It's dragged on for so long. They can't keep blaming the police for what that monster did, they just can't."

"It won't be the end of it for Jack," Phryne mused. "He'll blame himself for this forever. The guilt will eat away at him, I know it will, I know him."

Dot nodded. "He has… he has been drinking a great deal."

Phryne turned to face her, her expression aghast. "Oh… God. Jack. Poor Jack," she pressed her fingers to her eyelids, a storm of emotion building up inside her.

Dot watched her, an unwelcome anger stirring in her chest. Jack wasn't the only one affected by this. And Miss Fisher hadn't even asked about Hugh.

Phryne was pacing again, seemingly building up a frenetic energy. Her thoughts were filled with images of Jack, drowning himself in a bottle of cheap whisky. Suddenly, she wheeled round. "Why did nobody tell me?" she cried, furious.

"Stop it!" Dot snapped, rising to her feet. Phryne reeled, stunned.

Dot shot a look through to the other part of the house, and made a significant effort to lower her voice. "Be quiet!" she hissed, her eyes still flashing with anger.

Phryne reached out to her. "Dot…"

"No, Miss Phryne, don't! Just don't!" Dot picked up her tea cup and threw the contents into the sink. She leant against it for a moment, her head bowed.

Phryne stood in silence, scared to move or make a noise. Eventually Dot turned, her eyes red and her lip trembling.

"I know you're worried about the Inspector, Miss. We all are," she began. "But he wasn't the only officer involved. And I've had my own broken soul to look after, here in this house."

Phryne felt overcome with regret. "Oh Dot…"

"It's hard enough to get conversation out of him these days that isn't about the case or the Inspector. Not that he tells me what actually happened to those girls. He just goes white whenever I ask. He talks about the investigation though, over and over again, trying to figure out what went wrong. And when he isn't talking about it he just sits in silence, staring at the walls or reading those horrible newspapers." She was crying now. "It's hard enough to get him to sleep, even when he does come home from the station, without all this noise, so please, Miss, keep….keep your voice…." Dot dissolved into sobs. Phryne launched herself across the kitchen and gathered the younger woman into her arms. She let her cry for a few moments before she spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Dot. I've been so selfish."

"No," Dot sniffed. "I'm sorry, it's not you, really. I can cope with the papers, and everything, we have been coping with it. But what Bert said yesterday…. He's supposed to be our friend." With that she dissolved into tears again.

"Dot," Phryne said soothingly. "I'm sure he didn't mean it. Tensions are obviously running high in this city." She pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Dot, who took it gratefully. "I'm sure you're right, once the inquiry is over, everyone will know the police aren't to blame."

Dot was dabbing at her eyes. "Do you really believe that, Miss?"

"Believe what?" a voice came from the doorway.

Phryne turned to see Hugh in the doorway, undershirt on display and braces hanging down from his trousers. His stubble and tired eyes told her he had had a rude awakening.

"Hugh! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." As Phryne spoke, Dot quickly turned back to the sink and dabbed the last of the tears from her face, breathing deeply to get herself under control.

"Ah, that's alright, Miss," he replied. "How are you? Recovered from the journey?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Dottie? Is everything alright?" Hugh made his way over to his wife who nodded reassuringly. Hugh didn't look convinced, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"I'm afraid it's my fault, Hugh. Mr Butler told me about the case."

Hugh stiffened and there was a strained silence. "We tried to help him, Miss," he blurted out. "We really have. Dottie goes round with food all the time, most days he doesn't even open the door-"

"Hugh –" Guilt flooded her. "I know you have."

"I've tried speaking to him, I just can't get through, really-"

"Hugh, please!" Phryne held up a hand to stop him. "I know, of course I know. He couldn't have had anyone better looking after him."

"Except you, Miss" Dot said, still a little tearfully. Hugh nodded.

Phryne pulled her hat off, ruffling her hair. "I don't mean to imply that you both haven't suffered as much as Jack. Or that you haven't done your best to help him. It's not that. It's just…" she blinked furiously, trying to keep her own tears at bay. She swallowed, and looked up to face her friends. "Jack has always been there for me. Always. And I feel so guilty that I wasn't here for him."

"It wasn't your fault, Miss," Hugh said quietly, his arm still firmly round Dot's shoulder.

"It wasn't anyone's fault apart from that monster Devlin," Phryne said firmly. "But I intend to fix it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was inevitable perhaps, that the case of these murdered girls would have stirred up thoughts of Janey. But in truth she was never really far from her mind. She intended to see Jack today, but she first felt a pull towards the graveyard containing the Fisher family plot. Since Janey had been interred there last year, she had returned to her memorial frequently whenever she needed a bit of extra… power, she supposed it was. In the same way that Janey's presence had spurred her on when they were young, had made her bolder, keen to impress her younger sister, she took a certain energy from being beside her now. During her six months away, she had found that she had missed her visits to her grave, morbid though that may be. Janey had known her better than anyone, even Mac, and though she couldn't answer back, Phryne could still talk to her in a way that she couldn't to anyone else. Apart from maybe Jack. Although, of course, she couldn't talk _to_ Jack _about_ Jack. So, all these years later, Janey was still her greatest confidante, though Phryne would have felt silly admitting the fact.

The grave was well maintained she noticed. Of course, she and Prudence paid a great deal towards the upkeep of the plot. But there were fresh flowers too. Prudence must have been here recently. She had been so fond of Janey, so upset when she disappeared.

"Did you ever wonder where the police were?" Phryne thought, as she sat on the bench in front of the memorial. She thought the answer was probably 'no'. Phryne and Janey had been brought up to see the constabulary as foes rather than friends, probably due to their father's dealings with them. They were men you ran away from, not to. If they showed up, it meant you were in trouble, not that you were saved. Even if Janey had been aware of her impending fate (and Phryne continually told herself that she wasn't, she wouldn't be, she was too young, she was too naïve…) she would never have considered the chance that the police might come and save her.

Would Lucy? Or Celia? Phryne shook her head. There was no way of knowing. And yet, these were the thoughts that would be torturing Jack. These were the answers he was no doubt trying to seek at the bottom of a glass of scotch.

She shook herself out of reverie and stood up. She had to go to him.

()

Phryne got out of the car and walked up a neat path to a small cottage. Odd that this was the first time she had ever been to Jack's house. But this was exactly what she had pictured; quiet neighbourhood, neat gardens, and small box houses. The afternoon was still and peaceful. The house looked quiet. She wondered if he was out.

There was no doorbell, so, heart pounding in her chest, she knocked at the door gently, then louder again when the knock went unanswered. She was just deciding to go and try to peek in at the windows when the door opened.

She almost gasped.

Jack looked terrible. He wore his suit trousers, and a dirty shirt that was half open, showing his singlet underneath. It was if he had started to dress for the day before remembering he was suspended from duty. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. His hair was dishevelled and a few locks hung down over his forehead. His face was ruddy and his eyes were slightly glazed; he had obviously been drinking. To Phryne, who had rarely seen him out of his three piece suit and with his hair carefully slicked into to place, the change was incredible. But the thing that worried her most was his face. His cheeks were more hollowed out that when she had seen him last, his skin drawn more tightly across the bones of his skull. He had dark circles under his eyes. Taking in the whole picture, she could tell his clothes were hanging off him slightly. It might not have been as noticeable if she hadn't been so long apart from him, but she could tell instantly that he hadn't been eating.

Clutching solidly to the doorframe, Jack froze as he saw his visitor, his eyes starting from his head in shock. Phryne didn't know what to say or do and was on the point of trying to break the tension when he all of a sudden lunged forward and clutched her into his arms.

Surprised, she folded her arms around him in return, softly whispering his name. He was holding her tightly, almost painfully, and she was shocked to feel a shudder run through his body as he clung to her.

Then, he let her go, and took an embarrassed step backwards. Phryne, reeling at the sudden loss of him, searched his face, confused. She was appalled to see that his eyes were wet, his bottom lip shaking slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, slurring his words.

"Don't be," she rushed to reassure him. He was very drunk, she realised. "Can you spare a glass of whatever you're drinking?"

He blinked, vanquishing any remaining tears. "I… I'm sorry, this isn't a good time for me, Miss Fisher."

She peered around him into the house, noting an untidiness in the rooms that she was sure wasn't natural. Here an overflowing bin, there a pile of unopened mail. Normal, everyday sights, but quite out of character for the normally so fastidious Detective Inspector. Jack shifted slightly, blocking her view.

"Jack," she pleaded softly. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

He avoided her gaze, staring blearily at her feet.

"Dot and Hugh told me about the case," she said, hesitantly. "It must have been - "

Immediately she knew she had said the wrong thing. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, his jaw clenched.

"I don't….. I'd rather not discuss it."

"Can't I come in? Just for a minute?" She went to go inside, but he pulled the door closer so that his body blocked the narrow entrance.

He looked straight at her, and for a moment Phryne thought she might cry at the amount of pain so evident in his eyes.

"Miss Fisher," he said slowly. "I'm very glad that you made it back safely. But I'm afraid I'm not in the mood for company tonight."

With a muttered "I'm sorry," he shut the door without waiting for a response.

()

Phryne was still shaken by the encounter when she arrived back at Wardlow. As Mr. Butler helped her off with her jacket, he gently reminded her that she had invited her Aunt Prudence round for dinner.

"She's in the parlour, Miss."

Damn! She had forgotten all about it. The last thing she wanted to do, as much as she loved her Aunt, was go and make small talk all evening. She wanted to think about Jack, to plan what to do.

She tried to force a smile on to her face and opened the door to her parlour.

"Aunt!"

"Phryne! Dear girl!" Prudence embraced her niece with genuine affection. She had missed her while she had been on her extended break, and bitterly resented Henry Fisher for making the whole thing necessarily. "How are you? How was your journey?"

"It was fine Aunt P," Phryne replied, returning her kisses. "Are you well?"

"Fit as a fiddle, my dear." Prudence seated herself back down on the chaise. "And I hear from Margaret that you have safely deposited that rogue of a father of yours back in England where he belongs."

"Mission accomplished. For better or worse." Phryne replied, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

Her Aunt noticed immediately. "What's wrong?" she asked. "There's nothing amiss with your parents I hope?"

"No, they were quite well when I left them," Phryne hastened to reply.

"You seem distracted."

"I'm sorry, Aunt P," Phryne said. "It's just that I've just come from seeing Jack – Inspector Robinson. Or trying to see him anyway."

"Ah," Prudence nodded knowingly. Then, with an unexpected burst of sympathy: "Poor man."

Phryne looked up surprised. Prudence acknowledged her with a nod.

"I know I may have your doubts about your partnership with that man. Professionally and er, well, whatever else may be…"

"Aunt!"

"I am not the ignoramus you may think, Phryne! Suffice to say I do have eyes in my head and whilst he may be an unconventional choice he has helped our family enough times for me to regard his professional skills most highly. I'm sure he did everything he could to find that poor little girl." Prudence's eyes welled up at the thought of Lucy Cosgrove's fate. "The way the press have blamed him is quite unfair. I'm sure he has taken it very hard."

"He has," Phryne replied, her heart sinking at the memory of his face. Suddenly she felt the need to unburden herself. "He's been suspended from work until the inquiry is over. I went to his house but he wouldn't let me in. He didn't even want to speak to me. I've never seen him like that before." Her voice had risen and she glanced at her Aunt, aware that she was displaying something more than her usual level of emotion.

"I'm sorry, Aunt P. It's just… all those months I thought he was ignoring me. I was so angry at him for not answering my letters, and all the time – " she was horrified to hear a sob interrupt her words, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth. "I've been so selfish," she said, once she had gathered herself. "I can't bear to think of him hurting like that, and me being so far away."

"My dear girl," her Aunt replied, her voice full of pity. She rose and came to her niece's side, placing a reassuring hand on her back. "I'm sure that now you are back you can soon set him to rights again."

It was an odd sensation, to be comforted by Prudence, but her Aunt was a source of solace and support all evening, and Phryne found she was sorry to be saying goodbye to her when she took her leave.

"I visited Janey's grave today," Phryne said, as she helped her Aunt on with her coat. "This case is so similar, I couldn't stop thinking about her."

"I've been thinking the same thing," her Aunt said. I've been meaning to go for weeks but… it is hard, Phryne, isn't it? We know all too well what those poor families are going through."

Phryne nodded. There were so many victims in this case. And only one monster, who had denied them all justice.

"At least we got to see Foyle hang," she replied viciously.

"Yes. That coward Devlin denied them even that."

"So everyone has turned their hatred onto Jack. It's so unfair."

"I know, my dear," Prudence took her niece's hands in hers. "But take heart. Soon it will all be over."

"Do you really believe that?" It was the same question Dot had asked her this morning.

Prudence hesitated, then nodded. "Of course. Of course I do."

Phryne nodded back. But somehow, she didn't think either of them were being completely truthful.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"It's Mrs Collins on the phone for you, Miss."

It was the next morning. Phryne ran down the stairs and took the phone from Mr Butler.

"Dot?"

"Miss? How did you get on yesterday? With the Inspector?"

Phryne swallowed. "He wouldn't let me in."

There was a silence on the end of the line. Phryne felt a tug at her heart. She had let them all down.

"Did you speak to him?" Dot asked hopefully.

"A little," Phryne said. She didn't want to tell her about his desperate embrace, or his painful retreat. "But he didn't want company."

"How did he look?"

Phryne blinked back tears. "Terrible, Dot."

There was another silence.

"Dot?"

"Hugh's going round today, Miss."

"Will he see him?"

"He has to," Dot replied. "It's the final hearing tomorrow. Hugh is going to make sure he knows what he's going to say. I've pressed him a suit."

"Oh Dot, you're…. you're a treasure, you both are."

"Do you want to send a message with Hugh, Miss?"

"Um, yes. Yes, please tell him… tell him…" she exhaled. This was ridiculous. "Tell him I'll be there tomorrow. If he wants me to be."

"Of course, Miss. I'll tell Hugh. And I'll be over soon."

"Thank you, Dot."

"Goodbye, Miss."

"Goodbye."

Phryne hung up the phone, feeling helpless.

()

Hugh made his way to Miss Fisher's house. It had become his habit to pick up Dot there on the way home, when he was back to working the day shift. But this time it meant he would have to deliver his message to Miss Fisher. His heart tightened at the memory of his conversation with the Inspector.

 _Jack had observed him dully as Hugh removed the remaining scotch from his house. "I'm sorry, Sir, I just think… I think you want to keep a clear head for tomorrow, don't you?"_

 _He had received a curt nod in response._

 _"Do you know what you're going to say? How you're going to answer?"_

 _"With the truth." The Inspectors voice sounded hoarse._

 _Hugh essayed a smile. "You'll have nothing to worry about then."_

 _The Inspector blinked once._

 _"And Dot's laundered a suit for you," reminded Hugh, pointing to the garment bag he had hung on the back of the kitchen door. He was painfully aware of how patronising he sounded. Sure enough, the Inspector got up slowly, about to make his way out of the room._

 _"Uh, Sir? I had a message, from Miss Fisher?"_

 _Jack froze and turned round to face him._

 _"She said she would come to the hearing, if you wanted her to, that is?"_

 _"No!" snapped Jack._

 _Hugh jumped, unaccustomed to the speed of response._

 _"Tell her no," Jack continued, his voice brittle. "Tell her not to come."_

 _"Yes, Sir."_

Hugh rapped on the kitchen door, smiling when he saw Dot doing some mending at the table. She waved him in and he leaned down to peck her on the cheek.

"How was he?" she asked immediately.

"He said thank you for the suit," Hugh lied.

"Hugh! How was he?" Miss Fisher appeared in the doorway, her expression eager.

"Ah… I think he's going to keep a clear head for tomorrow, Miss."

Phryne looked at him suspiciously. "Did you ask him about the hearing, does he want me to…?"

"Ah…no, Miss."

"You didn't ask him?"

"No, I did ask him, Miss. He said no. He asked you to not come."

"Oh." Phryne sank into a chair. "Well. It's his decision," she said, dejectedly.

"I could go for you, Miss," said Dot.

"No!" said Hugh shortly. "I told you, Dot, I don't want you there. I don't want you to hear all of that."

Dot looked hurt, and Hugh put an apologetic hand on her shoulder. "Look, you'll be here tomorrow, won't you? I'll ring here as soon as the hearing is over. You'll both be the first to know, I promise."

"Thank you, Hugh," said Phryne, smiling gratefully. If Jack wouldn't let her go, she supposed this was the next best thing. "Leave that for today," she said to Dot, who was still fussing with her mending. "And get off home."

"Are you sure, Miss?"

"Of course."

Dot and Hugh bid her farewell and left, hand in hand.

Phryne watched them go, and part of her couldn't help but feel a little jealous. They had suffered through this, she knew, but at least they were able to comfort each other. Alright, Hugh didn't want Dot to attend the hearing either, but that was undoubtedly because he didn't want her to be upset by the gorier details of the case. Jack's refusal to her hurt the more deeply because it was _himself_ he was keeping from her. To be here in Melbourne, and be unable to help him. Unable to comfort him, to hold him, to save him from himself. It was unbearable.

She brought her head down and rested it on her hands. How would she get through tomorrow, just waiting hopelessly for Hugh's phone call? For a moment, she considered the possibility of going to the hearing in disguise. Jack didn't have to know she was there. But she dismissed the idea almost immediately. She had to respect his wishes this time. And he didn't want her there.

If only she had known, if only she had been here earlier. Things could have been different.

She was dimly aware of the phone ringing and Mr Butler answering it. She was aware of him entering the kitchen.

"Dr. Macmillan on the phone," he said, letting the fact that her head was resting on the table go by unremarked. "She wonders if you would be available tonight for a drink and a catch up."

Phryne lifted her head. She still smarted with anger at Mac for not telling her. Of all the people, she should have been the one.

"No," she said dully. "I'm having a bath and an early night."

"Very well, Miss."

()

The day of the hearing dawned with appropriate weather; dark storm clouds and torrential rain. It did nothing to ease Phryne's mood as she sat in the window seat of the parlour waiting for Hugh's call.

Dot tried to distract her with offers of card games and draughts, but she couldn't focus on anything. Eventually, remembering that Dot was just as worried about the hearing as she was, she forced herself to look through some pattern books with her, half-heartedly commenting on the suitability of drapes for the Collins' front room.

When the phone rang, they both leapt up and ran for the phone. Phryne stood back and let Dot answer – it was her husband calling after all. Listening to one side of the conversation was tortuous.

"Hugh? Oh, hello Hugh. What happened?... Yes….and did they?... Why, what did he say?...And did he?..."

"WHAT HAPPENED?" Phryne mouthed desperately.

Dot's face broke into a smile. "That's wonderful news, Hugh."

Phryne's body immediately relaxed to the point of bonelessness and she gripped Dot's arm tightly.

"Yes, come round, Hugh," Dot was saying. "We'll see you soon."

She hung up. "The inquiry exonerated the Inspector and the police of any blame, Miss."

"Oh, thank God!" Phryne felt like a ton weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "Thank God."

"Hugh's on his way round now."

"What about Jack?"

"Hugh lost sight of him when he went to telephone. He's going to look for him now."

"Alright." Phryne smiled broadly. "I think Hugh will need a stiff drink when he gets here. Mr Butler!"

()

It was almost two hours later. Phryne and Dot were sitting in the parlour. Hugh hadn't arrived.

"He should have been here already, Miss," said Dot worriedly. "What if somethings happened?"

"He probably just had things to take care of, Dot. I'm sure he'll be here soon."

Just then, the front door opened and Hugh strode in, without bothering to knock. He was dripping wet, and his helmet sprayed water all over the carpet as he swept it off. Phryne and Dot stood up to greet him.

"Hugh!"

Hugh greeted his wife with a hand on her back but turned directly to Phryne.

"Miss Fisher, I've lost the Inspector."

"What do you mean?" asked Phryne in horror.

"There was almost a riot in front of the town hall," Hugh explained, his voice shaking. "People…they weren't happy with the outcome."

Phryne's eyes fluttered shut. She had been dreading this.

"When they read it out, he didn't look happy, or sad, or anything, he just looked the same and then he walked out. I lost him when I went to telephone you and then by the time I got out, he'd already left, and the crowd had gone mad. The Cosgroves, they were there…. They were so upset."

"Oh my God," whispered Phryne. "Was he alright, was he hurt?"

"I don't think so, Miss. But he disappeared."

"Well, he must have gone home."

"I've been to check, Miss," Hugh looked uncomfortable. "I took a key a few weeks ago… for emergencies. He's not there. And he's not at the station either."

"Where else would he go?" Dot asked.

"He couldn't go anywhere in this city right now, that's the point," Hugh said, panic rising in his voice. "People are out for his blood, I've never seen anything like it."

"Then he'll just be lying low," Dot tried to reassure them.

"I'm worried about him, Dottie. He… didn't thank you for the suit yesterday."

"What?"

"I lied. He didn't even notice. And Miss," he turned to Phryne. "I had to take the drink away with me. He's not… he's not in a good place."

"Oh, God, Hugh," Phryne cried. "We have to find him!"

"What about the graves?" Dot said. "Lucy or Celia's?"

"No, he couldn't go there," Hugh replied. "The families… he wouldn't do it."

Suddenly an image flashed into Phryne's head, a bunch of fresh flowers at a memorial. And what had Aunt Prudence said? _"I've been meaning to go for weeks."_

"I know where he is," she said, suddenly confident.

"What? How?" asked Hugh.

"I just do. Go home, you two."

"Miss…"

"I mean it. Go home and get some rest."

"Miss…"

"It'll be alright. I'm going to get him."


	6. Chapter 6

Notes:

A bit of a longer chapter today but hopefully you think its worth it!

A warning for a graphic description of violence

 **Chapter 6**

He was sitting on the same bench she had sat on two days earlier. He didn't look up as she approached, but she sat down close to him without waiting for an invitation. His elbows were resting on his knees, his thick overcoat already soaked through from the rain. His eyes were fixed, unseeing, on the ground.

His voice, when he finally spoke, sounded weak and unused, as if he hadn't spoken for days.

"How did you know where I was?"

She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead of her. "I was here two days ago. I saw your flowers."

He didn't react.

"Why here, today?" she wanted to know.

She could see muscles tensing in the profile of his jaw.

"I couldn't go to Lucy's grave. And Janey was… another girl who the police let down."

His voice, though shaky, was tense and overly controlled. She knew he was hanging by a thread.

"Jack," she leant forward to try to look into his face, but he kept his gaze firmly on the ground. When she leaned into his body it was like pressing into a steel frame.

"Jack, I never…. When Janey went missing I never blamed the police for not finding her, you know."

There was a laugh that could almost have been a sob. "No. You blamed yourself. You carried that guilt around for 20 years. You still do. Should I add that to the list of the lives I've ruined? Another child who has all that still to go through because I didn't find her sister."

"The inquiry found you innocent of any negligence, Jack."

"They shouldn't have."

"It wasn't your fault. It's official."

"I wanted them to find me guilty. I wanted them to – " his voice cracked. "I deserved whatever they threw at me. I would have welcomed it."

"Jack, please don't talk like this." She could feel tears welling up; she had never seen him this desperate before.

"I keep seeing her, Phryne!"

It was the first time he had used her name, and the pain contained in it left her temporarily speechless. Dumbly, she reached out and intertwined her fingers with his. He didn't respond. She didn't know whether it was because his hands were numb with cold or because he didn't want to.

His jaw was moving up and down as he struggled to keep a lid on his emotions. His eyes still hadn't left the ground, but she thought she could see tears forming on his eyelashes.

"I keep seeing her face," he whispered.

She nodded. "Hugh…Hugh wouldn't tell Dot what happened to her."

Jack was silent.

She took a deep breath, forcing her voice to stay strong. "Tell me, Jack."

She felt a shudder run through his body. His mouth opened and shut again.

"Tell me."

The words were forced. "She…. She would have been raped and tortured. For hours. It would have been horrific. Then he slit her throat, just like Celia."

It was Phryne's turn to clench her jaw, trying to make sure her anger didn't spill over. Those poor, poor girls.

But she could tell there was more. He blinked rapidly, sending the tears that had been clinging onto his lashes to the ground where they mingled invisibly with the rain. She joined her other hand to his, forming a knot on his knees where she tried to grip as much of his hands, wrists and arms as she could. She extended her fingers stupidly, somehow thinking it would be better if she could touch as much of him as she could.

"But at the beginning," Jack was saying. "At the beginning…." More tears fell to the ground. "He…he cut off her eyelids."

She tried not to let out a gasp as she reeled back in shock, but couldn't stop her gloved hand as it flew to her mouth. Pressing against her lips, she tried to stifle her own cry of horror and let him continue. No wonder Hugh hadn't told Dot this.

Jack was shaking violently. "He wanted her to see him. He… he didn't want her to close her eyes."

She swallowed, again and again, feeling sickened. She put her hand on his back, feeling another shudder ripple through him.

"When I found her," his sobs were evident now, his words sounding wet and compromised. "Her eyes, were open…."

She rubbed circles on his back, biting down her on her lip. Tears were streaming from her own eyes. She knew what was coming.

"Her eyes were open. Just for a second, I thought…" his shoulders shook violently, his whole body racked with sobs. "I thought she was alive."

"Oh, Jack," she couldn't hide pain in her voice. But it seemed to allow him a sort of release, and he finally let his body succumb to her presence, allowing him to put her arms around his neck and pull him into a one sided hug. He buried his face into her shoulder, giving himself up to her, sobbing onto her coat like a little boy.

She blinked rapidly over his head, trying to calm herself. She had to be the strong one. But how could this not be insurmountable? How could she bring him back from this?

"It's alright," she soothed, but of course it never would be. She knew him, knew that in his eyes he had failed in every measure that he cared about. His job, his duty to the people, to Lucy and Celia. And to his own conscience. How she could she convince him that he wasn't to blame, when the rest of the city was trying to tell him otherwise? She had hoped that the inquiry verdict would help; instead it was going to make things a hundred times worse. As if he wasn't blaming himself enough, the very verdict announcing him innocent was going to force the press and the people into expressing their vitriolic rage at Jack.

She couldn't let him suffer it. She wouldn't.

She waited for his sobs to subside. His body was limp against hers. She rubbed his arms and shoulders briskly, trying to get some warmth into him, but by this time she was soaked to the bone as well. She had to get him inside, warm and dry.

"Come on," she whispered, trying to push him to his feet. He complied, but the action was automatic and unthinking. He had stopped crying now, but his face was expressionless, his eyes sunken black holes in his skull. He was very close to the edge, she realised, if not actually over it already.

She pressed her lips to his ear. "I'm taking you home." Silently, her arms supporting him, they began a slow journey back to the car.

()

It was too much of a struggle to use her keys whilst supporting Jack, and she wasn't confident in his own ability to keep standing. She rang the bell, praying that Mr. Butler was home.

He opened it almost immediately. He had obviously been expecting her return.

"We need to get the Inspector upstairs straight away, Mr Butler," Phryne was giving orders before she had even ushered Jack through the door. "A hot bath as soon as possible."

"Yes, Miss," Mr Butler had taken charge of Jack and was leading him up the stairs before she had finished speaking. The staircase was too narrow for them both to help, so after depositing his hat, she followed them up, a hand hovering behind Jack's back in case he should fall back. He was moving his feet, up one stair and then another, but other than that seemed completely unresponsive. She wasn't sure he was even aware of what was happening.

Mr Butler led them into her bedroom, not stopping to ask if they would be preparing her bath or the one in the communal bathroom. The room was warm and lit with soft light, as if he had known it would be needed straight away. She took over supporting Jack and Mr Butler turned to the bath, beginning preparations.

Phryne peeled off Jack's sodden overcoat, discarding it on the floor where she knew it would be dealt with in due course. The movement seemed to unsteady him, so she manoeuvred him to her bed, seating him gently on the end of it.

She knelt in front of him, pushing his wet hair back from his face and looking at him searchingly.

"Jack?"

At the sound of her voice, his eyes seemed to focus and he regarded her with a puzzled but uninterested frown.

"Jack, you know where you are, don't you?" she asked hesitantly.

He nodded slowly.

"Mr Butler is drawing you a hot bath, darling. We're going to get you warmed up and then put you to bed, alright?"

To her alarm, his eyes suddenly filled with tears. It took her a moment to understand; he couldn't bear anyone to be nice to him; not when he hated himself so much. She cursed herself inwardly. Perhaps it has been the wrong moment to bring out "darling" for the first time. It had just slipped out.

She adopted a stern expression, wiping his tears away. "Shhh," she whispered. "No more of that. Just sit still."

He obviously had no intention of moving, but he seemed to relax at the sound of her giving orders, allowing her to peel his suit jacket off. She discarded it, and then started to work at the knot of his tie. The wet material made it difficult, as did Jack's dull eyes fixed on her, but she carried on working with a diligence that had been learned in another time, under German mortar fire and hails of bullets and blood. She draped his tie over her shoulder, deftly unbuttoning his vest and shirt and pulling them off his shoulders in one go.

Even his singlet was soaked through, and despite the warmth of the room, Jack was shivering. She worked more quickly. "Arms up," she ordered, and was surprised that he obeyed immediately, allowing her to pull the sodden garment over his head.

She knelt back at his feet, quickly removing his shoes and socks, only dimly aware of Mr Butler telling her the bath was ready and that he would return shortly with towels. She stood again, and took hold of Jack's hands, cold but clammy to her touch.

"Up," she said, giving them a slight pull. He rose obediently, but then a frown crossed his face as he realised her intentions.

His hand came out to catch hers, stopping her as she reached towards his belt buckle. She met his gaze, searching his troubled face for meaning. His mouth moved wordlessly, trying to express the awkwardness that he obviously felt somewhere; though it was buried so deep under the pain that it had taken this long to show itself.

She sympathised, but she needed to get him into the bath whilst it was hot.

"Jack," she said softly, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek. "Don't worry about that just now, alright? Trust me."

The slightest of nods, which she took as permission to continue. As she tackled the belt, she felt him sway again, felt his hands go to her hips to steady himself.

"That's alright, Jack," she murmured reassuringly. "Hang on if you need to."

She tried to make as short work of it as possible, pulling his trousers and underwear off his hips in one go, and averting her eyes as she led him out of the puddle of clothes to the bath. He leaned on her heavily as she encouraged him to step in and sink down into the steaming water. Stroking his hair, she allowed him time to adjust to the change in environment.

"Just relax," she whispered. She knelt down beside the bath in silence, watching him. The bath seemed to awaken him slightly and he looked around, seeming almost surprised to see her. She gave him a soft smile, but it seemed to cause him pain. She was sure she saw him welling up again.

"Just relax," she repeated. "We can deal with everything else tomorrow." Picking up a sponge, she soaked it in the aromatic water and started to wash the parts of him she could reach, beginning with his shoulders and arms. His muscles were stiff under her touch to begin with, but as she methodically sponged him she could feel him start to finally relax, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Lean forward, darling." He had obeyed her before she realised another "darling" had slipped out, but he didn't seem to notice. She loaded up the sponge with more water, caressing his back, trying to cleanse him of the day, hoping it might go deeper than that.

She knew he wouldn't be comfortable with her attending to any other body parts, so she turned her attention to his hair, wetting it with her hands and using strong fingers to rub soap into his scalp. She was gratified to feel him lean into her, and she continued for longer than was strictly necessary. Eventually, using an enamel jug, she rinsed the soap out of his hair, being careful to shield his forehead so he didn't get any in his eyes.

By this time, Jack was basically asleep, his body lolling into her side of the bath. Mr Butler shimmered back into the room, bearing pyjamas and a pile of fluffy towels which he deposited on her bed.

"Mr Butler, could you assist me?" Phryne wasn't sure if she could get Jack out of the bath on her own, especially not whilst preserving any aspect of his modesty.

"Of course, Miss." He passed her a large towel, which she held out, part in preparation for Jack, part as a screen.

"Up you get, Inspector," she heard him say, and was touched at the care in his voice. Jack rose up, still half asleep but supported by the older man. She wrapped the towel around him, and he managed to cling onto it and hold it around himself, though his eyes were barely open.

They both held on to him as he manoeuvred heavy legs out of the tub and took zombie like steps towards the bed. Mr Butler handed her the towel, and by the time she had turned round to put it on the drying rack, had somehow managed to deliver Jack into his pyjama bottoms. She smiled, as grateful to him as she ever had been.

"I can take it from here, thank you Mr Butler."

"Yes, Miss."

"I'll use the guest room next door tonight, if that's alright."

"I'll see to it that it's ready, Miss."

If he was surprised at that, he didn't show it. It was obvious to Phryne that they were not moving Jack from this room tonight, but at the same time she didn't want to cause him any embarrassment tomorrow by waking up next to him. She would rather have stayed, of course. But tonight was strictly about getting Jack clean, warm and rested.

Jack was sitting on the bed, his eyelids continuing to droop. Phryne pulled the pyjama shirt onto Jack's arms, kneeling down again as she did up his buttons. He seemed to come to slightly, briefly focussing on her face and swallowing heavily.

"Are you alright? Do you need anything else?" Phryne asked softly.

There was a long pause. "Tired…" was all he managed to get out before his voice trailed off and his eyelids drooped again.

"I know, darling," Phryne replied. "Let's get you into bed."

She pulled up the covers behind him, pushing him gently down on the cushions. He opened his eyes and looked up at her as she tucked in the covers around him, sitting next to him as she fussed with the duvet and pillows. She gave him a last smile as she stroked his hair. He looked like a lost little boy.

"Phryne," he breathed, and the pain in his voice was so evident that she almost lost her resolve to sleep elsewhere. She breathed out shakily, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead instead.

"I know," she whispered. "Go to sleep."

He blinked once or twice more, before succumbing to the soothing action of her hand on his hair and her soft "Shhhh…" The moment his eyes shut for the last time, Phryne felt long ignored tears spring to her eyes and bit her lip urgently.

She slipped from the room before she could wake him


	7. Chapter 7

Notes:

Thanks again to all those who have read, followed, favourited, reviewed etc. It's really exciting to hear my email pinging away when I've added a new chapter and really encourages me to keep writing! Thanks also for the suggestion of upping the rating for the last chapter - on re-reading the rating definition you were absolutely right, and so have fixed that. Therefore the change of rating refers to the last chapter and not this one - nothing too graphic here.

I hope you continue to enjoy and have great weekends!

 **Chapter 7**

It was inevitable that Phryne would get no sleep that night. Although she was relieved to finally have Jack close, and know that she was helping him, the thought of him lying asleep next door wrestling with all his subconscious demons was too much to bear. Several times, she slipped out of the guest room and curled her body around her own bedroom door, listening anxiously for sounds of his steady breathing. He seemed to sleep soundly throughout the night, which was a blessing. But still, Phryne couldn't rest. She paced the room in frantic thought, at times incandescent with rage at the people who had brought her Detective Inspector to this.

At 4am, when she could bear it no more, she sat down at a writing desk and penned a vicious letter to the editor of the Globe, accusing him of rabble rousing without knowing the facts, of wilfully crucifying a good man. Signing off with a furious promise to seek legal advice, she threw her pen down and exhaled loudly.

Getting rid of some of her anger had done her good, and eventually, as the light was creeping in around her curtains, she flopped down on top of the bed and submitted to a disturbed doze.

She was woken by Mr Butler tapping on her door. She looked up as he entered to see a frown etched on his gentle face.

"Miss, I think we should perhaps call the doctor. The Inspector doesn't look quite right."

Phryne shot out of the room and into her own, leaning over Jack in concern. Mr Butler was right. Jack's forehead was hot, and a light sweat had broken out on his face. His breathing was shallow and frantic sounding, and though his eyes were shut and he remained in a deep sleep, his lips were moving anxiously.

Phryne bit her lip. Had he caught a chill? A fever? After all their work making sure he went to bed warm and dry! She wanted to cry.

"Call Mac, please," she said to Mr Butler, not taking her eyes from Jack's face.

"Right away, Miss."

()

It was not until Mac entered the room that Phryne remembered she wasn't speaking to her friend. Not that that would have stopped her treating Jack, of course. But she did shoot Phryne a look that said she was plainly aggrieved as she made her way over to the prone figure in the bed.

"What happened to him?"

"I found him sitting in the rain yesterday," Phryne said. "I don't know how long he'd been there. He's been sound asleep all night and then Mr Butler found him like this this morning."

"Right," Mac set her bag on the bed beside Jack and opened it up.

"What can I do?" Phryne asked desperately.

"You can go and get yourself some breakfast whilst I examine the patient," Mac said firmly. "The last thing I need is you dropping from low blood sugar."

"Come on, Miss," Mr Butler shepherded her out of the room gently.

()

"He'll be fine," came a voice from the doorway.

Phryne was curled up on her chaise in the parlour, still dressed in her robe. She looked up as Mac entered.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"100%."

"What's wrong with him? Did he catch a chill?"

"Probably. But mainly he's just exhausted. He's not been looking after himself, and his body's protesting. He'll probably sleep for the rest of the day, best thing for him."

"He's not been eating," Phryne said. "And he's been drinking too much."

"I know."

Phryne let the silence hang in the air.

"So this is what it takes for you to finally return my call, is it?" Mac said in a faux bright tone. "Jack Robinson on his deathbed?" She held up a hand to pre-empt Phryne's reaction. "He's not on his deathbed. I was exaggerating for emphasis."

Phryne shook her head, still angry. "You should have told me what had happened."

"I would have if you'd returned my calls."

"I meant when I was in England!" Phryne snapped.

A little of Mac's bluff manner disappeared and she sat down next to Phryne with her eyes lowered. "He asked me not to," she said quietly. "He didn't want you to know."

"And you let him be the judge of that, did you? That… that _shell_ of a man upstairs?!" Phryne cried.

"He hasn't always been that bad," Mac explained. "He even used to let me drag him out for dinner in the early days."

Phryne blinked, a little surprised. "I thought he was ignoring everyone."

"I understood a little." Mac said simply.

But Phryne shook her head again. "I can understand Dot and Hugh not telling me. They find it hard to talk about even now. They've suffered too. But you're my best friend. You must have seen how much he was hurting, how much he needed me."

Mac said nothing, but looked down at her knees.

"Why did he feel like he could talk to you about it and not me?"

"I understood a little," Mac repeated. "He didn't have to explain it to me."

Phryne frowned, frustrated. "What do you mean?"

Mac looked at her pointedly.

"Mac…" she said quietly. "You were the coroner." Shame threatened to overwhelm her. She put her feet down on the floor. "I keep doing this!" she cried.

"Doing what?" Mac looked slightly bemused at her outburst.

"Forgetting that everyone else has gone through hell! For God's sake! I can't do anything right."

"Don't make it about you…" Mac murmured in sing song voice, nonchalantly admiring her nails.

She made Phryne smile in spite of herself. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "Of course you were. Of course you were the Coroner. Why didn't I think of it before?"

"Because you are frantic with concern about Jack," Mac replied. "And you should be. We all are."

"It must have been awful, Mac," Phryne said, looking her friend directly in the eye. "Those girls…"

"I'm used to it," her friend replied quickly.

"No, nobody is used to that. Jack told me… he told me what happened."

"Did he?" Mac sounded surprised. She nodded slowly. "That's good. I think. He seems to have completely shut down over the last few weeks. I tried to get him back, Phryne, I really did. But he was so broken. When we did the autopsy…" she swallowed. "He looked completely wretched. And all he wanted was for me not to tell you. He begged me. And I'm sorry Phryne, but I just… didn't have the energy to say no."

"Don't apologise to me, I don't have any right to be apologised to-"

"For God's sake, Phryne, you haven't done anything wrong. You didn't know."

"I could have picked up a newspaper, for God's sake!" Phryne stood up in consternation. "But I didn't because I was too stubborn, I didn't want to see anything that reminded me of him. I was so angry with him."

"He got your letters, Phryne, he just didn't know what to say."

She turned back to face Mac, still seated on the chaise. "Why couldn't he tell me?"

"He said it would remind you too much of Janey," Mac said.

"Everything does," Phryne dismissed the excuse. "That's not the reason."

"I know." Mac agreed. "I never pushed him, but I started to think that maybe… he thought he'd let you down."

"What?"

"In the days where he would still talk to me," Mac explained, "he used to wonder what you would have done if you'd been there, investigating with him. _"Miss Fisher would have noticed that." "Phryne would have realised he was telling the truth."_ "

Phryne shook her head, speechless.

"I think…" Mac continued. "I think he felt ashamed."

Phryne dropped back down beside her friend. There was a silence as she tried to put herself in Jack's shoes. But a Jack Robinson who could ever let her down felt completely alien to her. "I don't know what to do," she admitted.

Mac switched back into doctor mode, addressing the practicalities. "Keep him here for a few days, anyway. He needs someone to look after him properly, make sure he eats and stays off the Scotch."

Phryne nodded. She hadn't even considered letting him leave. But she was still unsure. "I… I don't know how to help him."

Mac's expression softened. "You don't have to do anything. You're here. That's good enough for now."

"Is it?"

"It is. And I for one, am very glad you are."

"Oh, Mac."

The two friends fell into a tight embrace, and stayed that way for a long time.

()

Jack slept for the rest of the day, waking briefly in the evening to swallow a few spoonfuls of Mr Butler's chicken broth. Phryne asked him if he remembered how he got to her house.

"No… yes..." His face, which had so far been devoid of expression crinkled with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he croaked.

"There's no need to apologise," Phryne hastened to say. But he pushed the bowl away from him on the tray, looking grey. It wasn't a good time to try and talk to him, Phryne realised. Perhaps it was too soon. "You should go back to sleep," she said gently, picking up the tray and putting it on the bedside table.

Jack said nothing, but looked at her with an expression of consternation. She wasn't sure if he felt sick or was just embarrassed by what had happened the previous night. Or he just didn't want to be here.

She put out a hand to feel his forehead. "Are you warm enough?"

He moved away from her touch, frowning. Phryne felt a twinge of disappointment, but supposed if his habitual awkwardness was returning it might at least mean that he felt slightly better. There was a marked difference between how she had put him to bed last night, tucking him in like a little boy, and this air of disquiet and suspicion he seemed to be regarding her with now.

Covering her confusion, she changed track and patted his arm. "Alright," she said soothingly. "I'll leave you to sleep, darling," She stood to leave, bringing the tray with her. "I'll be just next door if you need anything."

As she opened the door, she heard him clearing his throat and turned back to see him still watching her.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She smiled at him softly. "Don't mention it."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Jack woke up in surroundings that he still found far from familiar. The soft, downy mattress and silk sheets were comfortable to the point of decadence. The sensation of them caused a conflict of emotions within him. On one hand – and now that he felt more awake and borderline healthy, he was only just beginning to realise that he was in _her_ bedroom rather than one of the guest rooms – he was comforted by being amongst her things, surrounded by her scent and a luxurious softness that was so specifically Phryne. Part of him wanted to stay there forever, to hide from the world and everyone else in it. To be soft and comfortable and warm and never have to think about the case or face the consequences of his failure. But there was another voice inside him, one that had grown stronger and louder over the last three months, haranguing him with barely any respite. It reminded him that the situation he was in was his own fault, that the case had been his responsibility, that the Cosgroves and the rest of Melbourne were perfectly justified in their hatred of him and that if he was never happy or comfortable for even one day in the rest of his life it still wouldn't make up for what happened.

What was he doing here, lying in her sumptuous bed like some sensitive invalid? What made him think he deserved such care and attention, to be here, warm and fed, whilst Celia and Lucy lay cold and alone in their graves? He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the tears away. He couldn't afford to get into such a state again. The night he came here was a blur; his main memory was of being overwhelmingly cold and wet and then her small, warm hands plucking his sodden clothes from him and working soapy water firmly into his scalp. He caught his breath as he remembered the sensation of her strong fingers in his hair, ashamed to register his body responding physically to the memory. His embarrassment increased as more images flashed into his mind; her hands removing his trousers and undergarments in one swift movement, him sitting in the bath as she soaped his back and shoulders. Mr Butler dressing him. It was a snowball of mortifying scenes, culminating in a memory of her leaning over him, stroking his hair gently and murmuring soothing words, her eyes tired and worried. It wasn't the image that he cringed at, but the memory of how much he needed her, how he could hardly stop crying even in front of her, and finally, - oh God, the strength of it was still there – how much he wanted to tell her that he couldn't bear her to leave. When he had woken the next day to Dr. MacMillan prodding him and asking him seemingly inane questions, his first instinct was to leap from the bed and run through the house looking for Phryne. But he had no sooner had the thought than he realised his legs were in no position to obey him, and no sooner had he realised that, than he promptly fell back into an exhausted and fevered sleep.

The next time he awoke, it felt as if years had passed. Phryne was telling him he had to eat and asking him what he remembered. He wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. Had that evening with her been a dream, some hallucination of his fevered delirium? He was embarrassed and ashamed by what he could only assume was some perverted lonely imagining – why on earth would he dream she would bathe him? – so much so that when she reached to feel his forehead he backed away in fright. It was only when she called him 'darling' that he remembered it hadn't been a dream at all, that she had come to aid when no one else could, even though, he knew, he didn't deserve it.

He sat up in bed, shaking his head slightly to bring himself back to the present. He didn't want to be ungrateful. Part of him didn't want her care and affection, but the other part of him wanted it _too much._ Either way it was too dangerous to remain here. He craved the solitude of his bungalow, where his thoughts could be a burden to himself only and everyone else could carry on without him.

He looked around for his clothes. Mr Butler must have put them somewhere.

()

Phryne knocked on her bedroom door softly. It was only nine o'clock in the morning, but she thought she should probably start getting Jack used to normal sleeping patterns if he was ever going to feel human again.

She was surprised to hear him respond, and more surprised when she pushed open the door to find him sitting on the bed fully clothed, pulling on his shoes.

"Jack!" she cried. "What are you doing?"

Jack stood up, wavered slightly, but remained standing. He set his jaw, regarding her with a passable attempt at determination.

"I've been trespassing on your hospitality long enough." He made to walk past her, but she caught his arm.

"Wait, Jack." Jack stopped, frowning down at her. "Mac wants you to stay here for a few days."

His frown deepened. "Why?"

"Because… look at yourself, Jack!"

He reddened at this, but let her continue.

"You've not been looking after yourself. You've clearly not been eating or sleeping properly. And then there's the drinking…"

Jack looked at his feet, feeling tears pricking at his eyelids yet again. He was pathetic.

Phryne softened, seeing how upset he was. "If you stay here, we can help, Jack. We can all look after you."

"I don't need your help," Jack said, still not looking up.

"You do."

"But I don't want it," he almost snapped. "I don't deserve it."

Phryne could swear she felt her heart breaking at the look on his face. "Jack, you're the best man I know."

"Don't say that," he looked almost disgusted, his face still angled towards the ground.

"Please. I hate to see you like this."

He took a deep breath, desperate to pull himself together and leave. He met her eyes again, recognising concern and worry in them. "I'm sorry if I upset you the other night," he said. "It won't happen again."

Phryne shook her head. How could she make him understand? She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his hand to bring him with her. He turned with her, but remained standing, watching her uncertainly.

"It would upset me more if you don't let me help," she said. "Or more accurately, if you _continue_ to not let me help."

Jack sensed her hurt. He shook his head. "I'm sorry I never wrote to you."

"Why didn't you?"

"Partly because I didn't want to bring up any… painful memories," he said, clasping his hands in front of them and examining them self-consciously.

Phryne frowned. She didn't believe that.

"But also… I didn't want to involve you in… the way I'm feeling at the moment…," his voice tightened. "I can't describe… it's not fair to include anyone else in that."

It wasn't the whole truth, Phryne decided. But it was closer than they had been. And she recognised something in it, something she had felt herself. The guilt of letting someone down. She remembered it from Janey, how that same feeling infected everything around her.

She pulled on his hand again, and this time he let himself be guided to sit beside her.

"I understand how horrible it is," she said slowly. "But even though I know it doesn't feel like it, you won't feel like this forever. I know it's a cliché," she said quickly, as Jack shook his head sadly. "But you won't, Jack. You'll get through it."

"No I won't," he replied dully. "I'm not strong enough."

"Jack, look at me, please."

He reluctantly brought his eyes up to meet hers.

"Do you think I'm strong?"

His answer was the most determined she had heard him yet. "Of course you are."

"I think I am too," she replied. "But when Murdoch Foyle escaped from prison… I felt like I was going to fall apart." She considered. "Actually, I think I did. I was so afraid. But I got through it because you were there to hold me together."

Jack looked unconvinced.

"Remember when we found Janey?" Phryne continued. "Remember when I reached out for you? I didn't even have to look because I knew you would be there. You always are." Mirroring her words, Phryne reached her hand towards Jack, and he grasped it silently.

"So if you ask me to not be there for you…" she said. "I'm afraid I can't follow that order, Inspector."

He gave a weak smile, staring down at her hand intertwined with his. "You never do," he said.

It wasn't the best joke that Phryne had ever heard, but the fact that he was able to utter it filled her heart with joy and she laughed out loud.

His smile lingered on his face as he massaged the back of her hand with his thumb, seemingly deep in thought. Eventually, with a hint of reluctance, he let it go and looked up at her. "It's…uh…. It's inappropriate for me to stay here," he attempted.

"Hang inappropriate. Its doctor's orders. And I won't take no for an answer."

He nodded. He knew there was no point in arguing. She had made his mind up to look after him. "I can at least give you your bedroom back."

"Alright, I'll agree to that. You can have your choice of guest rooms. And Mr Butler will pick some things up from your house. But first… Breakfast!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Despite his earlier conviction that he was going to be able to get himself up and back home with no trouble, Jack's energy soon wore out. It was a natural consequence, Phryne reasoned, of the mental strain he had put himself under, his lack of proper nutrition and the slight chill he had caught. After being encouraged to attack a large, steaming bowl of Mr Butler's porridge, Jack promptly fell asleep on the chaise in the parlour.

"Leave him," Phryne said affectionately as Dot hovered over him.

"At least he's out of bed, Miss," said Dot.

"One step at a time," Phryne agreed. She was under no illusions that getting Jack back to full physical and emotional health was going to be an easy journey. But she was encouraged by their morning's conversation. For the first time, they had had an actual dialogue. He had listened to her, responded, tried to explain how he was feeling. For the first time, she had seen a glimpse of the Jack Robinson she knew, broken and tired though he was. And she hoped he had finally agreed to accept her help.

He woke at lunchtime for long enough to eat some more soup and take a turn around the garden, encouraged by the entire household. Phryne knew it was a small step in a long, hard journey, but the sight of Jack rolling his eyes at Dot and Mr Butler's obvious pleasure at getting him outside made her giggle.

Exhausted, he collapsed again on the chaise, this time under a book. As his eyes slipped shut and the tome started to slip from his unconscious grasp, Phryne took it, carefully marking the page and setting it on the floor beside him.

She watched him, glad that his expression seemed clear and at ease. She wondered if he dreamed about the case. She hoped not. He looked peaceful.

Always planning ahead, Phryne wondered what the next steps were. Would he open up to her? Discuss the case? She knew it would be difficult for him. But instinctively she felt it would be important for him to do so. Dot had said Hugh kept going over the case, trying to figure out where they went wrong. Phryne knew Jack would be doing the same. And Mac was right – he would have been constantly second guessing himself, wondering if things might have been different if she, Phryne, had been investigating alongside him.

Phryne knew that eventually, she would need to have this conversation with Jack. She wanted to be prepared when she did.

()

Phryne was in the kitchen when Hugh knocked on the door to pick up Dot. He greeted his wife affectionately but looked nervously at Phryne.

"Miss Fisher," he said uncertainly.

Phryne understood. "Dot," she said, as if she had just remembered something. "Could you look out my green robe before you go? I can't remember where I've put it."

"Of course, Miss." Unsuspicious, Dot left the kitchen and they heard her light footsteps on the stairs.

"Well, Hugh?" Phryne said, her voice suddenly low and urgent. "Did you get it?"

Hugh nodded and passed over a thick file. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I need to know what happened, Hugh. Not just from the papers. I need to see it from the inside."

"I'm not really meant to remove case files from the station," he said.

"You can pick it up first thing tomorrow," Phryne promised.

Hugh nodded, but he still looked worried. "Miss… you won't let Dottie see it, will you?"

"Of course not," Phryne said. Just then, she heard Dot's steps return and she slipped the file under a newspaper on the table. She raised her eyebrows at Hugh, as if to say "See?" and he nodded gratefully.

"How is the Inspector, Miss?" he asked as Dot came back into the room.

"Better, I think. He's asleep through there," she nodded her head in the direction of the parlour.

"Good," Hugh said. "Give him my best, Miss."

"Of course."

"Are you ready to go, Dottie?"

Dot nodded. "I've laid the robe out on your bed, Miss."

Phryne looked momentarily confused before a sharp look from Hugh reminded her of her excuse. "Oh! Thank you, Dot!"

"See you tomorrow, Miss."

"It's Sunday, Dot," Phryne protested. She wanted the newlyweds to spend some time alone together!

"I want to come and help out, Miss," Dot said.

Phryne smiled. She knew Dot was as glad as she was that Jack was finally allowing himself to be looked after. "Very well. Goodnight you two."

Phryne waited until they were both out of sight before sitting at the table and pulling the pile of papers out from under the newspaper. She took a deep breath, and opened the file.

()

It was the first good night's sleep Phryne had had since she returned to Melbourne. She stretched, cat like, enjoying the feel of her own sheets and slightly regretting the fact that they had been freshly laundered by Mr Butler and no longer smelt of Jack.

She thought of him, presumably still asleep in the guest room next door after being shepherded there by her late last night. She had been engrossed in the case files for hours before remembering that Jack was asleep on the chaise. It had been after midnight when she suddenly shook herself from her reverie. Satisfied with her reading, she had entrusted the file to Mr Butler before gently waking Jack and encouraging him up to bed.

Phryne wondered what she had been expecting to read in the file. Horrors, of course, plenty of those, but it did no good to dwell on them. Phryne had been interested in procedure, the notes and records of the investigation. It tightened her heart to see the notations in Jack's messy hand, and it brought a lump to her throat to know he made them at a time when he still had hope. This would just be yet another case that he would solve. But then, even worse, the stoic, curt record of the end of the case. She ran her fingers over the words, trying to sense the pain she knew was contained in them. She gave a small huff of dissatisfaction when the writing suddenly changed, knowing that it signalled the point where someone else took over the investigation and accusations of incompetence first began to be levelled.

There was a small, niggling fear at the back of her mind that she tried desperately to ignore. She knew how good Jack was, but… what if something had gone wrong? She became more and more annoyed at herself as the doubt refused to subside. Did she really think Jack was right, and that she would have noticed something that he had not? Was she really that vain? _No_ , she reasoned. She trusted him more than anyone in the world, both as her friend and as a police officer. But the fear was hard to dismiss purely because of the magnitude of its implications. He would never forgive himself if there was something he had missed. Never.

But, biased, though she no doubt was, there was nothing that Phryne found that showed the City South team had been anything another than thorough in their treatment of the case. Jack had made every call she would have made, had left no stone unturned.

And so, for the first time all week, Phryne slept. And woke refreshed.

It was Sunday, she thought, and considered staying in bed. But she heard movement and voices downstairs and felt a surge of affection for her household, who had joined together in their sincere care and affection for her Jack.

 _My Jack?_ she thought, and then decided not to dwell on that.

She pushed herself out of bed, thought she better wear her green robe, considering she had asked Dot especially for it, and left her room. She hovered outside Jack's door before deciding she should let him sleep on. She considered going in, but hunger pangs and the smell of bacon drew her downstairs into her kitchen. It was almost lunch time after all. She had slept late.

"Hello," she smiled in greeting. She immediately realised she had disturbed something. Mr Butler was as usual, working away at the hob. At the table sat Bert and Cec, side by side with the air of school boys who had been caught red handed. Dot was towering over them, slightly red in the face.

"Is everything alright?" asked Phryne. She got the distinct feeling she had interrupted Dot mid-lecture.

There was a silence before Mr Butler came to the rescue. "Dot was just filling Bert and Cec in about our house guest, Miss."

"I see." Phryne, reminded of Bert's previous less than charitable comments about the Inspector, looked at him sternly.

"Dot was making sure Bert and Cec are fully briefed on the facts," Mr Butler said diplomatically. "And we've all agreed that the hearing came to the correct conclusion and that there's no more to be said."

A look at Dot's face told Phryne that she had been quite forceful in airing this viewpoint.

"Good," Phryne said. She looked at the two cabbies, challenging them to disagree.

"How is the Inspector, Miss?" Cec asked, a genuine look of concern on his face.

Phryne bestowed a grateful smile on him. "He was in a bad way. But I think he might have eventually come to conclusion that we all intend to look after him and there's nothing he can do about it."

"If there's anything we can do to help…"

"Thank you, Cec. I just hope we can persuade him that not everyone believes what they read in the papers." She gave a pointed look to Bert.

"Plenty do," Bert replied.

"Bert!" The exclamation came from Dot.

Bert rushed to explain. "I don't mean me!" He turned to Phryne. "Honestly, Miss Fisher. Dottie's explained it, and I reckon she's right about what happened, and that he feels bad about it and everything."

"So you should," Phryne replied tartly.

"But unless you want to go and explain that to every bloody person in Melbourne, you're going to have a tough time persuading everyone that _this_ isn't the truth."

Bert tossed a newspaper down on the table.

Phryne looked at in horror. "Is this todays?"

Nobody answered. She picked it up. The headline screamed out at her.

 _INQUIRY WAS 'BIASED' SAY FAMILY OF MURDERED LUCY_

"Everyone's talking about it, Miss," said Cec, an expression of concern on his face.

Phryne read on, speechless.

 _The family of murdered 6 year old Lucy Cosgrove yesterday dismissed Thursday's verdict as 'biased' and called for justice for their daughter. Lucy's mother, Margaret, accused officials of trying to protect senior police officers and glossing over mistakes that led to the failure of the case._

 _"If Snr. Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had realised his mistake in arresting an innocent man sooner, Lucy could have been found in time. My little girl could be here with me now."_

 _Mrs. Cosgrove argues that Inspector Robinson's mistakes in the case directly affected the outcome and wasted valuable time during which Lucy could have been brought home alive and well, or at the very least, murderer Alfred Devlin could have been caught and brought to justice._

 _"Melbourne relies on its police force to protect them from monsters like him," she said yesterday. "If they can't do that, what good are they to us?"_

"Oh God," Phryne said. She felt panic rise in her chest. "We can't let Jack see this."

"Can't let Jack see what?"

Phryne's heart turned to stone as she looked round and saw Jack standing in the doorway, fully dressed but ashen faced.

"Jack…." she instinctively passed the paper to Dot. "It's just the Sunday papers. There's no news so they're making up rubbish as usual."

He gave her a long look, jaw clenching in anger. He turned to Dot. "Give it to me, please."

"Jack," Phryne pleaded.

"Give it to me," he said sharply. Dot gulped and handed the paper over. He gave Phryne another angry look before unfolding it and reading it intently.

Phryne couldn't bear the silence. It seemed everyone in the room was holding their breath. She wanted to cry. Just when she thought she was starting to bring him round, this had to happen. Was there no escape?

She saw Jack's shoulders slump, and he folded the paper up again. "Right," he said, dully.

"Jack… the verdict was published yesterday. People know you're not to blame." She pointed angrily at the paper. "Everyone knows it's a lot of nonsense."

Jack looked at Bert, who seemed to wither under his gaze. His fingers ran over the crease in the paper, folding it more tightly. "Not everyone. Right Albert?"

Bert looked down. Phryne wondered if there had been some altercation between them in the early days, before she got back to Melbourne. She started at Bert, willing him to respond. When he didn't, Jack simply replaced the paper on the table and walked out.

Bert opened his mouth to apologise, but found himself instead on the receiving end of a slap across the top of his head.

"Ow! Dot!"

Phryne shook her head, furious, before stalking out after Jack.

()

Jack grasped the back of a dining room chair, bowing his head as he willed the walls to stop closing in on him. He breathed deeply, determined not to lose his mind in Phryne's dining room, with the whole household next door.

He almost laughed at how stupid he had been. Did he think he could hide here forever, untouched by the tragedy? Did he think it wouldn't come and find him? Yesterday he had almost managed to convince himself that the world was beginning to move on. Not the families, of course. He was fully prepared, almost glad, to remain their scapegoat for as long as they needed. But maybe… maybe one day the rest of the city would forgive him? Comforted by this unfamiliar thought, he had allowed himself to doze lazily on the chaise, finally giving his body permission to recuperate after the punishing stress he had put himself through. Every so often, he would feel Phryne's warm hand on his head, telling him it was time to eat, or time to go to bed. Despite himself, he had actually begun to relax.

But now, into this restful oasis Phryne had created for him, reality had come crashing through. Further inquiry? What did that mean? Standing up at another hearing? Going through the awful details over and over again? He couldn't do it, he knew he couldn't. But what did his wishes matter? Who was he in this, but the man who should have protected those little girls and failed? What had Margaret Cosgrove said?

 _"Melbourne relies on its police force to protect them from monsters like him. If they can't do that, what good are they to us?"_

What good was he to anyone?

He was dimly aware of Phryne coming into the room and placing a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, walking around the other side of the table.

She looked distraught. "Jack… please…"

He felt another wave of guilt wash over him. How fed up of this she must be. How many repetitions of this was he going to put her through? How boring he was.

A sudden urge took him. "I'm going out for a while," he said, his voice shaking.

"No Jack, stay here," she pleaded, looking stricken.

But he was already into the hall and heading out of the door without a coat. He turned round in the doorway. "I just need a bit of time," he tried to reassure her. "I'll be alright."

For the second time on this day that had begun so optimistically, Phryne wanted to cry. But with a shudder, she pulled herself together.

"Come on, Phryne. Get a plan!" she whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Right."

She stormed back into the kitchen where a sheepish looking Bert and Cec were still sat at the table.

"You wanted to help?" she asked them, in a tone that they knew brooked no refusal.

"Yes, Miss?" answered Cec eagerly.

"Here's what I want you to do."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

It was early evening, but still light. Phryne was looking of the parlour window anxiously. Jack had been gone over five hours. Where was he?

Unable to sit still, she got up from the window seat and paced the floor. Suddenly, the very room irritated her, and she ran lightly to the front door, thinking to look for him from the pavement.

She walked quickly to the street, looking up and down the road. There was no sign of him. Despondent, she turned to make her way up the path.

She stopped short. At the small wrought iron table by the house sat Jack.

He regarded her calmly. "Hello."

She felt herself become angry, an emotion that she knew was somewhat unfair.

"Jack! I've been…" she gestured to the parlour window, realising that she had been staring out looking for him whilst he had been sat here all along.

He followed her gesture, looking surprised. "Sorry."

She threw her arms up in frustration. "How long have you been sitting out here?"

"I'm not sure."

"Right." She shrugged. "Well then." She disappeared back into the house. Jack was worried he had upset her, but after a few moments she reappeared wrapped in a fur and holding out his overcoat.

He looked at her. She widened her eyes at him. "Well, if you're going to insist on sitting out here, you can at least do me the courtesy of wrapping up!"

He stood up and took the overcoat from her, putting it on and settling down again. She was right. He had been cold.

She took the seat across from him and looked out over the garden, saying nothing. Jack could almost have called it a companionable silence, if there wasn't something he had to say.

"I'm sorry about walking out like that."

She nodded in acknowledgement of his apology. "There are going to be moments like that, Jack. But just because it feels like you've gone right back to the beginning, it doesn't mean you have."

He didn't agree. He didn't feel he had moved on at all. But he didn't want to hurt her feelings, so he said nothing.

From nowhere, Phryne produced a bottle of Scotch and two glasses. Jack was astounded.

"I thought you were under instructions?"

"I am," said Phryne. "But this my point. Everything isn't going to change suddenly overnight. So, new transitional rule: From now on, no drinking… alone. Alright?"

He didn't say anything, but watched with a growing sense of guilt as she poured two minute shots of whisky. She passed one over to him and watched his unease with interest. He played with the glass for a few moments before he cracked.

"I was… I went to the pub."

"I know you did!" snapped Phryne, snatching the glass back.

He looked up, surprised. She watched the cogs turn in his brain before things clicked into place and his astounded expression was replaced by one of resigned disdain.

"I must really be off my game. I should have noticed the comrades tailing me."

"They're well trained," Phryne commented.

"So if you know that…" Jack said. "You probably know…"

"That nobody would serve you?"

Jack nodded. "Yes."

"Yes."

"So what happened? Did I manage to shake the red raggers off?"

"They lost you at half past four. Apparently you dived down an alleyway."

"I was trying to avoid a load of diggers." Jack shook his head. "Why did I think it was a good idea to go out for a drink in pubs that are full of _Globe_ readers?"

"I don't know. If you had told me, I could have advised against it and saved you a lot of abuse."

He smiled bitterly. "I'm used to it."

"Oh Jack," Phryne softened, regarding him with pity. "You must have had a hell of an afternoon."

His eyes flickered downward. "It's been a lot longer than that."

"I know," again Phryne felt a pang of guilt for all those months she harboured anger against him for ignoring her.

He gave a great, shuddering sigh, his eyes fixed on the skyline. "I'm so tired, Phryne. I can barely remember who I am."

"You're Detective Inspector Jack Robinson."

He eyed her. "I'm not going back to work," he said after a pause.

She had been afraid of this. "You don't have to make a decision about that now."

"I've already made it."

"Jack…" she knew the time had come. "I need to tell you something."

He looked at her with something approaching interest.

"I went through the case file."

His eyes widened in shock. "Phryne…"

She held up her hand to stop him. "I just wanted to see…Mac told me…"

"Mac told you what?"

She paused. "She said that you'd been asking her what I would have done. In the case. If I'd been here."

Jack bit his lip. "I did ask that," he admitted nervously.

She was momentarily distracted by his expression. "…I wish I _had_ been here, Jack." He looked horrified, and she hastened to explain.

"Not because… not because you did anything wrong. I went through it all, there wasn't a single thing I would have done differently. It was just bad luck. That idiot who saw Lucy being taken into that building? Waiting days to tell anyone because he didn't want to be caught out having an affair. How could you have foreseen that? It was just bad luck."

"But you felt you had to check?" His voice was cold.

"Only because I wanted to convince you and I knew you wouldn't believe me unless I'd been through it all myself."

She saw him look uncertainly at her, obviously deciding if she was just being kind.

"You have to trust me, Jack. Trust my professional opinion, if you don't trust anything else."

He let out a breath that he seemed to have been holding for hours. "Then why did… what did you mean about wishing you were here?"

"Just… for you."

The thought seemed to upset him. She wasn't sure why. But she let him reach out and take back his glass. He looked deep into the contents.

For some reason it was easier that he wasn't looking at her. She continued:

"I've been feeling so guilty, Jack."

"Join the club," he quipped.

"I mean because of you."

"Why?"

"I've been so angry with you," she almost laughed, though it wasn't funny in the slightest. She took hold of her glass too, mainly for something to do. "I never really expected you to come after me. But I couldn't understand why you were ignoring me. I came back to Australia fully prepared to pretend you didn't exist for the rest of my life."

Jack sneaked a glance at her. He seemed to be steeling himself. Throwing back his tiny shot, he set the glass back on the table and reached inside his overcoat pocket.

"I've been carrying this around with me. I don't know why." He pulled out a dog eared envelope. It was fluffy around the edges, and Phryne realised that whatever it was must have been in his overcoat when he got drenched that day in the graveyard. By the look of it, Mr Butler had ironed it flat again. Jack pushed it across the table to Phryne, avoiding her eyes.

Puzzled, she opened the envelope.

It was a ticket for a sea passage to England. Dated 29th May 1929.

She looked back at Jack, aghast.

"Celia Bretton's body was found on May 27th," Jack explained, finally meeting her eyes. "And I stayed."

Speechless, Phryne nodded.

"I meant to reschedule my passage… but…."

She nodded again. She understood. But… then everything else happened. Jack's world had been thrown upside down. But before that… he had been coming. _He had been coming after her._

She was suddenly overwhelmed with a passionate sadness, for Jack, for Celia and Lucy, for Hugh and Dot and Mac and everyone else whose lives had been thrown into turmoil by the actions of one evil man. But for the first time she also thought about the impact on her and Jack, not separately, but together. Recently, she hadn't really thought about the hopeful way they had left their relationship on that airfield six months ago. She had been so concerned with making Jack alright that she hadn't stopped to clarify what they were to each other now. But somewhere at the back of her mind, hadn't she thought that one day they would pick up where they left off?

And now? She felt as she was in mourning, not just for the moment in which she could have met him at the dock in Southampton, dressed casually in his shirtsleeves and tanned from the long voyage, but for any possible future, which now seemed further away and more improbable than ever.

She suddenly felt quite a strong urge to simply burst into tears. She pressed a hand to her mouth and tried to hide her emotion from Jack. But already she could feel tears welling up in her eyes and she blinked furiously to try to get rid of them.

"Phryne?" Jack asked, his eyes crinkled with concern. She dropped the ticket on the table, and he seemed to understand, replacing it in the envelope and returning it carefully to his pocket.

"I missed you so much," he said quietly. "But… it all feels so long ago now."

She nodded, looking straight ahead. She took a deep breath and knocked back her own glass of whisky. She put out a hand, knowing without looking, as she always did, that he would be there.

She felt him grasp her tightly and they sat like that, speechless in their sorrow, their hands clasped between then on the table.

Eventually, Phryne spoke, her eyes still fixed on the horizon. "It's getting cold."

But neither of them moved, for a long time.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"But what did he want?"

"Dottie, it was a private conversation."

His wife let out her breath in a huff as Hugh unlocked their front door and stood back to let her walk in first.

"I don't think you appreciate how hard it's been to get the Inspector to this point, Hugh Collins."

"I do, Dot."

"Do you? Miss Phryne has worked so hard with him, she wouldn't appreciate you going behind her back."

 **"** I wasn't going behind her back!" Hugh said irritably as he helped Dot off with her coat and hung it up. "The Inspector asked me to have a word with him. What was I supposed to do? Say no?"

Dot looked at him suspiciously, pulling hatpins from her head and removing her hat. It had all looked rather suspicious to her. Hugh had dropped by Wardlow to pick her up as usual, and the Inspector had called through from the parlour. When they both went through, he had coughed and looked awkwardly at her, making it clear he would prefer a private conversation with Hugh. She had blushed and made a quick exit, and now Hugh wouldn't tell her what they had spoken about.

"Where was Miss Fisher anyway?" asked Hugh as he made his way through to their bedroom to kick off his boots and change.

It was Dot's turn to blush. "She had to go and run some errands." It was the truth, but Dot had noticed how Miss Fisher seemed awfully keen to get out of the house this morning. She supposed she just needed a break from all the emotional turmoil, but it had still seemed odd.

Hugh had interpreted her thoughtful look as being upset with him. "He just asked me to do him a favour," he relented.

Dot frowned. "What sort of favour?"

Hugh shifted uncomfortably. Dot narrowed her eyes. Miss Fisher had to have all the information available if she was going to help the Inspector. And she wasn't about to make the mistake of keeping her in the dark again.

"Hugh?"

()

After spending too much money in Melbourne's many fashion houses, Phryne was walking back to the Hispano feeling strangely unsatisfied by her retail therapy. Should she go back to the house, see how Jack was getting on? She hadn't seen him at all today. She had had lots to do, errands she had been putting off since she returned to Melbourne. But if she was honest, they weren't the only reason she had gone out. That moment with Jack, sitting out in the garden had been painfully intense. On waking up, she found herself almost scared of being in his presence. It was laughable, and a little shameful, she realised, to feel that way. But now that she knew how close he had come to travelling across the world to be with her, just being around him brought a new sort of pain. And if she felt that way, how must Jack be feeling?

She corrected herself. He wasn't feeling anything towards her; not any more. That much he had made clear. And of course she couldn't blame him. He had enough to occupy his mind. Better to go out and give him some space, she resolved. Her feelings didn't come into it. She wouldn't have him anywhere else than in her house right now, but it didn't mean they had to live in each other's pockets every minute of every day.

Her attention was drawn by a newsstand, and slowing, she read the headline of _The Globe_.

 _CALLS FOR COSGROVE DETECTIVE'S RESIGNATION_

She cursed loudly. This was the last thing he needed. She sped back to the car, throwing her purchases carelessly into the back seat and roared away from the pavement.

But when she arrived outside her house, she was gripped by a sudden reluctance to move. What was going to happen? He clearly wasn't ready to discuss his job. Was bringing it up simply going to push him into making a decision he wasn't in any state to consider? Would he even be there? Or had he stormed out again? Was he out there now, trying to get served a drink in a town full of people who hated him?

She closed her eyes and forced herself to think rationally. He probably hadn't even seen the paper. After the debacle the day before, Mr Butler would have had the good sense to hide it from him. What good was her storming in going to do anyone? It would no doubt lead to more tears and self-recriminations. It was after seven. He was probably asleep by now anyway. _Just let him sleep_ , Phryne told herself. _He deserves one day off._

All of which had given her permission to consider her own needs. She had gone straight to Mac's flat. By tacit consent, they didn't talk about Jack or the case, focussing instead on catching up on everything else they had missed during Phryne's six months of absence. Phryne relived tales of jazz clubs in London for Mac's amusement, and roared along to Mac's stories of the new Trustees at the hospital and how much they loathed her. It felt good to laugh, she thought, throwing back whisky after whisky with abandon. She needed it. And Mac needed it too. It hadn't been an easy few months for her; though she seemed not to want to talk about it and Phryne was in no mood to push her. Instead, the two friends delighted in the other's company, allowing each other a welcome break from what, really, was turning out to be one of the most punishing times they had known together.

It wasn't until Mac was pouring Phryne into a cab at two o'clock in the morning that Jack was finally mentioned. Phryne lurched back out of the door, having only just been deposited there.

"What?" said Mac, gruffly. She was only just beginning to realise how tipsy she was.

"Did you know?" Phryne asked, her eyes suddenly mournful.

"Know what?"

"About the ticket?"

"What ticket? What are you on about, you madwoman?"

Phryne hiccupped sadly. "The ticket. For the boat. To England. To me."

Mac could see tears forming in her friend's eyes.

"Oh, that ticket."

"Mac!"

"I'm sorry, angel," Mac said. She went to stroke Phryne's cheek, though in truth it ended up more as a slap. "Sorry," she said again.

"What for?" Phryne frowned.

Mac shrugged sadly. "Something else I never told you."

"I'm not sure I wanted to know that."

"Why not?"

Phryne blinked furiously, but couldn't stop her tears from falling. "It's too sad," she said, sounding like a little girl.

"Phryne…"

"It's too late for us now, Mac."

Mac remained silent. Phryne gave her a final sad smile and went to get back into the cab.

"Phryne – " a thought was pushing its way to the front of Mac's clouded mind. "How did you find out? About the ticket?"

Phryne gave her another mournful smile. "He kept it."

Mac nodded sagely. She leaned over and planted a kiss on her friend's forehead. "Go back to him, Phryne. I'll come and check him over tomorrow."

Phryne gave a final half-hearted sob and fell back onto the cushions of the cab seat. Mac watched the cab drive off with a bemused smirk on her face.

 _He kept the ticket. Oh Phryne. It's not too late at all._

()

Phryne, forcing herself awake, groaned as she felt memories of the night wash over her. Mentally counting the shots she and Mac had put away, she groaned again. No wonder she felt like a family of cats was living in her head.

She almost crawled down the stairs, desperate for water.

Jack was sitting at the kitchen table and eyed her with some amusement as she blundered into the kitchen, her eyes squinted half shut against the light.

"You look worse than me," he quipped.

"Jack." She hasn't really been mentally prepared to come face to face with him, though she supposed they could hardly avoid it, given their current living situation.

"Sit down," he said, smiling. "I'll get you some water."

She frowned at his seemingly jovial mood, somehow disappointed that she had been right and that her absence the previous day had apparently done him some good.

 _I'm being selfish_ , she remonstrated with herself. _I want him to get better, don't I?_

He set a full glass carefully down in front of her and she blinked gratefully. He sat back down across from her, continuing to drink his coffee.

She remembered something. "Oh. Mac says she's going to come by today to check on you."

He nodded. "So, we have a doctor to blame for the state you're in do we?"

She smiled ruefully, trying to ignore the little flutter her heart gave at his use of the word "we."

"Hopefully, she hasn't got any important patients today. Apart from you," she added, smiling at his raised eyebrows.

"I look forward to my check-up," he deadpanned.

Phryne waved a hand dismissively. "She'll be fine."

"As long as you had a good night," Jack replied sincerely.

His genuine care made her feel guilty again. "I shouldn't have left you all day," she said quickly. "I…just…"

"Phryne!" he looked mildly horrified. "You don't need to play nursemaid to me the whole time. I'm glad you had fun with Mac."

"You seem… better today," she suggested tentatively.

"I feel better," he said, but there was a tone of forced brightness that crept into his words that made her suspicious.

The phone suddenly rang and to Phryne's fragile head, it sounded much louder than usual. Unwilling to wait for Mr Butler to answer it, she walked quickly into the hall and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Miss? It's Dot,"

"Morning Dot."

"I have to tell you something Miss. I only got it out of Hugh this morning."

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "Go ahead."

()

Jack smiled at the expression on Phryne's face as she registered the racket of the phone ringing. He was genuinely glad she'd been able to let her hair down with Mac last night. She deserved a bit of fun, God knew he wasn't the best company at the moment. Plus, it had given him the chance to do what he needed to do.

As she disappeared into the hall, he drained the remainder of the coffee. He knew he was going to have to tell her soon. He only hoped she understood. He looked up at the clock. 10 am. At least it was too late for her to try to change his mind.

Phryne walked slowly back into the kitchen, and it only took one look on Jack's face to realise. She knew.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, keeping his tone light.

"Jack," Phryne said, her voice low and dangerous. "Have you handed in your resignation?"

He pressed his lips together and looked down at his empty cup, feeling his good mood drain away. "Collins can't keep one damn secret." He looked up at her and nodded. "Yes. I gave him a letter yesterday to hand in to the Chief Commissioner."

"Why was it a secret?" Phryne cried.

Jack tried to stay calm. He had hoped she would have taken it better than this. "Because I didn't want you to do something… something 'Fisher' like!"

"What does that mean?" she shot back, enraged.

"Like intercepting the letter, or manipulating Collins, or trying to talk me out of it."

"But of course I would have talked you out of it, Jack!"

"Why?" He genuinely couldn't understand why she thought he would want to remain a policeman after this.

"Because you're in no frame of mind to be making a decision like this! Why on earth would – ? " she stopped short, and dropped into her chair with a thump. "Oh." She closed her eyes. "That bloody newspaper."

"It wasn't just that," Jack said truthfully. The Globe headline had been the final straw. But in truth, he had already made his decision.

"Jack…" Phryne turned in her seat to face him square on. He could see her struggling to remain calm. "You're a policeman."

He shut his eyes. It was almost physical pain to hear her say it.

"Not anymore."

"What else are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "I haven't thought about it. I just know I can't do that. Not anymore."

"Your confidence has taken a knock," she reasoned. "It's only natural…"

" _My confidence has taken a knock_?" he repeated incredulously. He stood up in a swift movement, his hand over his mouth. "Phryne… my God, do you think that's all it is?"

"Jack," she looked horrified at his reaction.

"This isn't about me, don't you understand?" he was shouting now. "It's about everyone I let down and making sure that is never allowed to happen again." He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

She sat still, frozen in fearful silence.

"You sit there…" he couldn't stop himself – "you sit there, talking about confidence and moving on, as if I can do that, as if I can allow myself to do that. All I can do, Phryne, _all I can do_ is make sure I never endanger anyone again."

She couldn't let him say that. "Jack!" she cried back, rising to her feet as well. "You never endangered anyone in the first place!" She pronounced each word loudly and carefully, hoping that this time, finally, he understood. "How many people have to tell you that before it goes in? You're not to blame. You're not to blame! My God! I don't know how else to say it!" She realised her voice had risen to an unnaturally high volume, and she sat down again, exhausted.

Jack was about to argue back when he took in her devastated expression and the slump of her body over the table. He may have convinced himself that he didn't care about his own welfare, but he couldn't deny that he still cared about hers. He had hurt her.

He sat back in his chair, sitting up stiffly. "I'm sorry, Phryne," he said quietly. She looked up at him from under a curtain of black hair. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful."

Phryne raised her head wearily. He had missed the point, but there was no point in arguing further. "You don't," she said dully.

"I know you don't agree with what I've done," he began. "But it… it just feels right. For the first time in this case, I've done what people want me to do. I'd like your support, but if…"

She fixed her eyes on him tiredly. "Of course I support you. Whatever you do."

He nodded. But he looked unconvinced.


	12. Chapter 12

Notes:

Hello everyone! Firstly, thanks so much to everyone who has read, and especially, reviewed! I vastly appreciate it. Secondly, I really do apologise for the fact that so many of you seem to be breaking your hearts over this story! It's gratifying to produce such a response, but I have to admit to feeling slightly bad for not being more uplifting (I promise I am quite a cheerful person in real life!)

In order to make up for this, and for the fact that this week is turning out ridiculously busy with work, I am posting three chapters tonight in the hope that it will fast forward you, lovely, kind hearted readers to a slightly more hopeful place in Jack's story and with the desire of offering some small compensation for my probable absence for the next couple of days.

I'm hoping to post more towards the end of the week, but for now, thanks again so much for reading and please continue to let me know what you think!

Gingham xx

 **Chapter 12**

Phryne tossed and turned. It had been a hellish day. She and Jack had tiptoed around their fragile alliance all afternoon, finally giving up after a tense dinner and going straight to their respective bedrooms.

Mac had come round earlier. She had pronounced Jack as "on the mend," but assured them both that he still needed looking after and that he was best off staying where he was. Phryne bit her lip at the look of annoyance that crossed Jack's features when she said that and went through to the kitchen, ostentatiously to put the kettle on. Mac had come to find her.

"Physically, he's getting there," she reassured her in a low voice. "Psychologically…"

"I know," said Phryne. Mac eyed her quizzically.

Phryne turned and leaned against the counter. "He's handed in his resignation," she explained.

"I see," Mac said, folding her arms. "Does that explain the atmosphere between you two?"

"Partly."

"What have you said to him?"

"That I support his decision."

"Do you?"

"Of course not!" Phryne hissed. "He's a policeman! He lives for the law. Always has done. It's his whole existence."

"But Phryne, don't you see how terrifying that is? If his job is his life, he's not just messed up at work, he's ruined _everything_. This is life changing for him. He needs to believe, even if it isn't true, that he can separate himself from the job."

"He didn't mess up, though."

"I know, but I'm trying to see it from his point of view. You should try it."

Phryne looked at her friend, irritated. "I am trying."

"I know." Mac surprised her by folding her in a giant hug. "I know how much you care about him, and how much you want to fix him," she said into her hair. "But he has to fix himself too. So maybe, just for now, don't… advise him. Don't tell him how blameless he is, what a good policeman he is, because he won't believe it. Just be there for him."

She had been put out by Mac's lecture, but now, lying in bed, she could see the sense in it. She could tell Jack that he wasn't responsible for Lucy Cosgrove's death until she was blue in the face. She had done so. But no matter how much it hurt her to admit it, in this particular circumstance, he really didn't care about her opinion. Mac was right. She just had to be there.

She sat up. A noise had roused her. Was that shouting?

Like a shot, she had leapt from her bed and run along the corridor to the guest room. The shouting was coming from inside.

She opened the door and felt through the darkness to the bed. "Jack?"

"Go!"

She reeled, convinced for a moment that he was shouting at her. But then he rolled over, arms flailing and he realised he was in the throes of a nightmare.

"Go!" he shouted again. "Go! Now!"

She had heard him use those words before. It took her back to their most thrilling investigations together. Staking out some building or other, surrounding it with his men, and advancing on it as one to surprise the criminal in his lair. Jack ordering his officers to advance, with all the confidence and military bearing of the soldier he used to be. Phryne used to get a kick out of those moments, thrilling at the way Jack took charge of the situation, how his men trusted and respected him. How he would turn to her just before it started, his hat pulled down over one eye and an expectant smirk on his lips. "Ready Miss Fisher?" Then off they would go, into the breach, together.

But this time, Phryne was sure he wasn't reliving one of their cases. There was such pain in his voice, such desperation in his movement. She knew he was back there, in the midst of the Cosgrove case.

"Jack," she cried. "Jack!" She was desperate to bring him out of it.

He awoke with a judder, his eyes flashing with the reflection of the little light in the room, darting back and forward like a trapped animal.

She climbed up on the bed to kneel beside him, her hands on his trembling shoulders.

"Jack? It's me, I'm here. You're alright."

He was taking deep, shuddering breaths, and then he pressed his hands over his face. Biting her lip, she smoothed back his hair, feeling sobs shake his body.

"Shhh…" she murmured. "It's alright. It was just a nightmare."

He gulped as he tried to pull himself together, failed, and grasped her to him. Surprised, she let him melt into her body, the moment reminding her painfully of that first reunion on his doorstep.

"It's alright," she soothed, although she knew it wasn't. She could feel his hands tangled in the hair at the back of her neck, his hot breath panting against her throat as he held her close. She rubbed his back, waiting for his breathing to slow down, trying to ignore the painful intimacy of the moment.

After a while, he seemed to calm down, and he rolled away from her onto his back. He still had one arm under her neck, and she kept her hand on his chest, reluctant to lose all contact.

"How often?" she asked quietly.

"All the time," he replied, staring blankly at the ceiling. "I thought… I thought they might stop now."

She swallowed as she realised he meant since he had resigned. "Nightmares aren't that easy to get rid of, I'm afraid." She knew that at least, she was still plagued by vivid nocturnal imaginings of Murdoch Foyle and Rene Dubois.

But he was shaking his head. "They're not nightmares."

"What do you mean?"

"The dreams aren't bad." She was vaguely aware of how open he was being with her. Maybe it was easier in the dark. Or maybe she had finally started following Mac's advice. She rubbed her hand in slow circles on his chest.

"Go on."

"The dreams aren't bad. I'm back there. I'm looking for her. But at least… at least I think I've been given another chance. I can still find her. I can make it alright." He swallowed. "But then I wake up. And I realise I can't. It's still over. And she's still dead."

"Jack…" she murmured, her heart spilling over for him. She moved closer and planted a soft kiss in his hair. He turned to look at her and she could see such need in his eyes. She knew she should remove herself – they weren't strong enough for this intensity, either of them.

She should go. She opened her mouth to tell him.

"Can I stay?"

He looked as surprised by her words as she was, but he nodded, sliding his arm out from under her so that she could settle down. Barely hesitating, she pulled up the duvet and climbed in, being careful not to touch him under the covers.

They lay still for a few minutes, each comforted by sound of the other's breathing. Eventually, Jack rolled onto his side, facing away from her into the darkness. Phryne looked at the broad swathe of pyjama shirt that was his back, watching the movement as he breathed in and out. She could tell by the pace that he wasn't asleep. Reaching out, she placed a hand on his back, resting her arm on the bed but on him too, making sure he knew she was there.

After a few minutes, she felt his breath slow and she knew he was asleep.

()

It wasn't yet morning when Jack woke to the unfamiliar weight of someone else in bed with him. Without turning round, he remembered. He was mortified that she had witnessed his dream, but gratified that she was still there with him. It was awful, how much he needed her. Pathetic.

He turned slowly, careful not to wake her. She was still asleep, but looked uncomfortable, her shoulders tensed and a frown etched across her brow. As he observed her, concerned that sharing his bed had caused her to have a painful night's sleep, she seemed to wake.

"Ow," she groaned, attempting to lift her head.

"Phryne?" The word came out in a mumble. He tried again. "Phryne?"

Her eyes blinked open. "Mmmm," she grumbled.

"You alright?"

She tried again to raise herself from the pillows. "Must have slept awkwardly," she said thickly. "Crick in the neck." She tried to turn her head, crying out in pain as she did so.

"Hang on," Jack said. He was surprised at himself, but he was remembering something, and it had given him an idea. His ex-wife, Rosie, had been of classical, almost statuesque bearing, tall and with a long, slender neck. She had beautiful poise, but also, excruciating neck and shoulder pain. Jack knew he had been a bad husband in a lot of ways. But he could give a good neck rub.

He knew, deep down, that this was probably a bad idea, that neither of them was strong enough to deal with it. And yet he couldn't resist the idea of doing something to help her for once.

"Lie on your front," he said quietly. She frowned at him, confused, as he pushed her pillow aside, creating a relatively flat surface. "Trust me."

She lay back down obediently, groaning again as she turned her head to the right and lowered herself to the mattress.

He began tentatively at first, using just his right hand to rub the back of her neck. But as he felt her muscles relax into his touch, he raised himself up, using both hands to work her shoulders; diligently kneading the knots out and feeling the tension drain away.

"Mmm." Phryne made appreciative noises, her eyes shut. It was that more than anything that drew Jack's attention to the relative absurdity of their situation. He had told her it was inappropriate for him to stay here. And now here he was, massaging her, in his bed. Trying not to notice how soft her pale skin was under her silk pyjamas. Still, he kept going. He couldn't deny that there was something about doing something to help _her_ , to be of service to _her_ that was making him feel, for the first time in months, slightly better about himself. It was like he wasn't quite as useless as he had thought.

His hands slowed as he registered the even pace of her breathing and realised that she had fallen asleep. Emboldened, and still hovering over her, he drew a finger over her cheek and pushed the shiny wing of black hair behind her ear. She looked so peaceful. He lay back down beside her, one arm protectively draped across her shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the back of her head.

For this first time in a long time, he felt slightly not pathetic.

()

It was Phryne who woke next, nearer to morning. She blinked as she struggled to place her last memory. Was it Jack's nightmare?

She turned to face him, careful not to disturb the weight of what she now realised was Jack's arm across her back. The movement woke him though, and he opened his eyes to see her blinking at him in surprise.

"Oh," he said, stupidly.

She tilted her head at him. "Did you give me a back rub?"

"You had a sore neck," he replied, quick to defend himself. But she simply smiled at him.

"Did I fall asleep?" She sounded incredulous. He couldn't help but smile back as he nodded.

"Sorry," she apologised.

He was about to answer when he realised that he had been subconsciously rubbing circles on her shoulder. He removed his hand quickly, but as he drew it down her arm he felt her catch him, lacing her fingers through his and bringing their hands to rest between them.

She shut her eyes again.

He studied her. "Thank you for last night," he said, without really knowing was going to.

The eyes flickered open. He saw her replay it in her mind, and she reached out for him, remembering how much his dream had hurt him. He couldn't help himself for reaching for her too, and soon they were lying together, arms around one another's necks, her head resting on his shoulder.

He knew it wasn't the time or the place. He knew that he didn't deserve her. But just at that moment, he was so full of love for her that he couldn't stop himself leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. She angled her face up at him. Their eyes met. And again, he couldn't stop himself.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

If she hadn't been lying down already, she would have dropped. Not at his massage, that was a friendly act, a respite for the pain that had gathered in her shoulders throughout the night – probably through the stress of trying not to embrace him. She was sure he was unaware of the feelings that surged through her as his powerful fingers worked her tired muscles.

Not even at that first kiss he planted on her forehead. Friendly, even chaste. A grateful kiss, she thought.

But that second kiss, right after their eyes locked. That would have floored her. He came towards her with such passion in his eyes, and before she knew where she was their lips were locked together fiercely, every previously unexpressed word and gesture finding relief in the act. He kissed her hungrily, desperately, and she responded with a passion that matched his exactly. She turned towards him, eager for more contact, her tongue demanding entry to his mouth and deepening an already powerful moment.

They broke apart for breath, and she drew him to her again. But before they could connect, he turned his head away and froze. She almost cried out from the loss, but with difficulty, forced herself to bite her tongue. She bowed her forehead, resting it on his chest, feeling his heart pound and his lungs expand as he forced himself to take deep breaths. He sat up, and she had to move quickly to avoid him.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her. She could see his body trembling.

"Jack?"

He didn't turn round. "I'm sorry," he croaked.

"Don't be," she replied automatically, but she already knew it was too late. He was up and out of the door before she could get out of the bed.

She stood in the middle of the empty room, eyes fixed on the door that had closed gently after him. Dressed only in her thin peach pyjamas, she shivered slightly.

His exit from the room had left her feeling vulnerable and alone. She sank back down on the edge of the bed, trying to pull herself together. It was her fault. What was she doing here, in his bedroom? Trying to force him into feeling things he wasn't ready to feel. She bit her lip firmly, angry with herself. She had been selfish. It was just that so often, what she needed felt like what he needed too. The lines of their relationship were so blurred.

Maybe him being here wasn't such a good idea. Any yet where else could he go? The idea of him being in his home alone was unthinkable. And anywhere else? He had plenty of people in his life who loved him and wanted to take care of him. But he had only let her do it. Didn't that mean something? But what? Again – lines were blurred.

Ironically, she wanted to do what she normally did when she felt confused and unsure. She wanted to talk to Jack.

She remembered when she had received that letter from Murdoch Foyle, asking her to deal with him for information about Janey. She had gone to Jack for help, desperate for him to lay her demons to rest.

 _"You never listen to me, anyway," he had said, smiling softly._

 _"Humour me."_

 _He had looked into her eyes, calm and confident. "You know what to do," he said, as if he didn't have any doubt that whatever she chose would be the right course of action._

It was selfish of her to want that now, that quiet honesty and assurance from the one man who she was certain was in no position to provide it.

Maybe it was her turn.

()

Jack splashed water from the sink onto his face, submitting gratefully to the numbing sensation around his eyes.

 _What have I done?_

He stared into the sink dumbly, and for a moment considered the possibility of disappearing down the plug hole and floating away.

But even the prospect of such welcome relief made him feel guilty, and he turned, leaning back against the sink and groaning. He couldn't believe how quickly his body had betrayed him. Was it really him who had kissed her like that?

It had been hard enough before, trying to block her out when she was still on the other side of the world. But even as he had been caught up in the case, then overwhelmed and broken by the aftermath, he always held her. In the back of his mind. In his heart. When he slept, even in his arms. It never went away. It was true that having her became less important. He couldn't imagine being happy without her, but as he had no intention of being happy ever again, that wasn't much of an issue. But Phryne herself? She was never unimportant.

He had thought of her as beyond him. She would continue, a vibrant and beautiful star in the night sky. He would always know she was there and part of him, he supposed, would always love her. But she would go on without him. This half man, this broken shell… he wasn't for her now.

Or so he thought until she turned up on his doorstep and he was instantly rendered helpless by his need for her. It wasn't just that she was a lifeline. She had already been his life. And she had come back to him. From then on, every touch, every press of her lips to his skin, every "darling" that dropped from her mouth had been exquisite torture. He didn't deserve her. What right did he have to allow himself that happiness, to allow himself her?

Bad enough to harbour those feelings whilst he was staying here, supposedly recuperating under her expert care. But now he had acted on them. He dragged his hand over his face. What a mess.

It was time to go home, he reasoned. He would pack now.

He strode purposefully to the door, opened it and walked straight into her. She had been standing on the landing waiting for him, her hair still askew from the night and her face young and innocent looking without her usual war paint.

She placed a hand on his chest to stop them crashing into each other and withdrew it quickly as she noted his sharp intake of breath. She looked up at him, noting how heavily he was breathing. Her voice, when it came, was surprisingly calm.

"Can we talk?"

()

There was a chaise in her bedroom that he hadn't ever noticed before. _What was it for?_ He wondered. Who lounged in their bedroom? But he dismissed the thought from his head, registering it as inane as he sat down beside her. He knew why she had chosen it – she didn't want to go downstairs and risk Mr Butler interrupting them, but it was an alternative to her bed, which, they could both agree, was dangerous territory right now.

The curtains were still shut, but the early morning light was beginning to peek through. It felt to Jack as if they were under a deadline. _Fix yourselves before the day begins. Or you'll never be fixed._

Phryne began, leaning back against the arm of the chaise and facing him defiantly. "Can you do me one favour?"

"Of course." Jack was surprised by the question.

"Don't leave."

He bowed his head. She had chosen the one thing he had resolved to do without fail. She was a mind reader.

She continued. "I couldn't bear it if you left now. Over something that was my fault."

Jack looked up incredulously. "That –" he pointed through the wall at his room " – was not your fault."

"Jack…" she looked at him disbelievingly. "Staying the night in the same bed was hardly the best idea I ever had."

"It wasn't as bad as me deciding to give you a neck rub for no apparent reason!"

She pressed her lips together, looking at him. Then suddenly the tension broke, and she bowed her head, dissolving into giggles.

Watching her, Jack couldn't help but laugh too. "It's not funny," he protested, smiling.

"I know," Phryne was still laughing. She put her hand on Jack's shoulder. "I know it's not." She tilted her head, looking at Jack's confused expression with sympathy. "I know," she said again, tearfully this time.

He put his hand across his chest to cover her fingers.

"It's just such a ridiculous situation," she continued.

"I'm sorry," Jack said.

"It's not your fault. Oh!" Phryne rolled her eyes. "I'm not meant to say that to you anymore because you don't believe me."

He smiled slightly, unsure as to what she meant. "Generally, I like to think I know when you're lying to me, Miss Fisher."

She smiled at his use of her formal name. She knew he meant it affectionately.

"In that case... and in the interests of honesty…"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. It's just… " She shifted on the chaise. "I've been feeling wretched ever since you showed me that ticket."

"Phryne, I'm sorry."

"Jack Robinson, if you apologise once more during this conversation…"

Jack opened his mouth to apologise again, caught her eye, and shut it again.

She continued. "I… I just can't stop thinking about how wonderful it would have been to see you in England. How happy we would have been."

Jack bowed his head. He had imagined it too, but the resulting picture was too sweet to bear.

"I missed you more than I ever thought possible," she said. "And you said you missed me, but… that it felt long ago."

Jack nodded, feeling tears prick his eyelids.

"But to me it doesn't," she said, her voice thick with pain. "I'm here, and you're here. And still… I miss you so much." She saw the muscles in his jaw clenching as he listened to her. "You're right beside me, and yet you're buried underneath so much pain that sometimes I think… I think I'll never get you back."

Jack brought her hand down to his lap, looking down as he traced her fingers with his own. "I don't want to be like this, Phryne."

"Then don't be." It sounded childish, even to her.

"It's not that easy."

"Nothing that matters is easy."

He nodded again, still looking down as a long silence stretched between them.

"Why did you buy that ticket, Jack?"

He took a deep breath. "Because you were everything to me. Still are. That has never changed, Phryne. It never will."

Her heart lifted and she willed it not to show in her face in case she scared him off.

"Then, Jack – "

"But, I can't do it just now," he said, finally fixing her with dull, pained eyes. "I can't give you what you deserve. And I would never ask you to wait for me."

"What if you didn't have to ask?"

"Phryne… please…"

She saw it then, how scared he was. Anything that happened between them now would be forever tainted by this case. She didn't want that for him; for either of them. She could see how terrified he was at the idea of giving in to their attraction under these circumstances, and how much the thought of any future undertaking to do so weighed on him. He felt he didn't deserve her, that he didn't deserve to be happy. No matter, for now, that it was a ludicrous belief.

"Alright," she said calmly, squeezing his hand. "No expectations, Jack. We don't need to worry about it."

He looked unconvinced. "Tell that to the fellow who almost jumped you this morning."

She smiled ruefully. "I put him in an unfair position. It won't happen again. He has my word."

He nodded, drawing his hand out from hers reluctantly. "I feel utterly pathetic," he admitted.

She wanted to draw her to him, to kiss the lost expression from his face. But she had just promised not to do so.

She smiled instead. "That's just because you haven't had breakfast."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

They had no further opportunity to discuss anything over breakfast, as they were joined by the whole household. It was probably a good thing, Phryne reasoned, forcing them both to be less introspective, listening to Dot and Mr Butler chat and joke happily. She watched the tension slip slowly from Jack's body as Mr Butler poured them tea and coffee, and ladled steaming bowls of porridge in front of them.

Jack attacked breakfast with vigour, and Phryne smiled. He certainly seemed to be getting his appetite back.

It was odd that a conversation that had been so difficult to have and had the potential to cause so much pain now seemed to have cleared the air between them. There was still much that had been left unsaid. But she felt better that they had finally tackled the subject of their relationship, and was relieved, also, that he hadn't run back to his own home.

They were in a place now that felt much healthier, more honest. And she accepted that he didn't feel able to take things further just now; indeed, she would never have broached it if he hadn't kissed her! She knew he didn't have the room in his already troubled mind to consider their relationship. But it didn't mean that privately, she couldn't. He had asked her not to wait. But that was exactly what she intended to do. He didn't have to know. She didn't care how long it took; they had been dancing around this for years already, what difference would another few months make? And she didn't intend to push him, flirt with him or do any of those things she had enjoyed so much in their early relationship. She trusted that he would come to her himself, that this horrible episode couldn't change his feelings permanently. One day, he'd feel better. One day, he'd realise he deserved to be happy. And she would be there, whether it took weeks, months or years.

Until then, she would wait. It felt an alien thing to do for her, she was so used to constant action, always on the move, offence rather than defence. But she knew that this time, she had to change her ways for Jack (and it was so palatable to do so precisely because he had _never_ asked her to), bide her time, focus on getting him well and be careful to respect the boundaries he seemed to need. She had to back off, but be there for him at the same time.

She sighed, watching him converse with Mr Butler over the morning paper. It wouldn't be easy. But as she had just told Jack: nothing that mattered was easy.

()

After the turbulent emotional upheaval of those first few days, life at Wardlow settled down into a relaxed routine. The morning would begin with what Jack internally referred to as a family breakfast in the kitchen. It would be noisy and busy, with Dot arriving and seeing what needed to be done and Mr Butler fairly gliding around the kitchen to deliver on everyone's demands at once. Phryne would be planning her day, and often Bert and Cec would appear at the door, eager to sample whatever Mr Butler had whipped up and ready to see if Miss Fisher had any jobs for them. She usually did. Apparently satisfied that Jack really was on the mend, she had stopped neglecting the rest of her Melbourne life. She had the cabbies all over town running errands, delivering her to Madame Fleuri's to enquire about a new dress for Jane, running old household items and clothes to various jumble sales in aid of some charity or other or helping her Aunt organise a benefit for the hospital. Jack hadn't properly realised how busy she was before, and it gladdened his heart to think he must be less of a burden on her now, that she felt able to dip her toe back into society life.

So, whilst she was often flitting about the town of a morning, or for lunch, Jack normally busied himself with a book, or made him useful by helping Mr Butler with something or other. At some point in the day, she would come back, and he felt himself always trying to be busy at that moment she came through the door. He had determined to worry her as little as possible, and anyway, he looked forward to her return. She would tell him about her day, and ask him about what he had been reading. They might have tea, or sit in the garden, or sometimes she would whisk him out in the Hispano. They would drive down to foreshore and walk along the beach or have a spin in the country lanes at a speed that almost cost him several hats.

The one change Phryne had obviously made to her lifestyle was her evenings. She rarely went out for dinner, choosing to stay in with Jack (the idea of going out to a restaurant where everyone would be looking and pointing made him feel physically sick), and if she did, she always made sure she was back early, so that he never went to bed without knowing she was next door. There had been one or two occasions where she had come through and woken him – apparently he had been shouting again – but after making sure he was alright, speaking to him soothingly until his breathing returned to normal, she would give him a soft smile and leave, returning to her own room. He felt a pang of regret when she did that, but he knew she was only giving him exactly what he had asked for and he was thankful for it.

All in all, it was a thoroughly relaxed existence. He could feel his own mind, his own sense of self start to return to him. There will still bad days, of course. There were days he couldn't stop his mind from treading well-worn paths of self-destruction, his attention drawn back by something – an article, or some conversation – to the case and he felt the unbearable guilt swoop back over him, the feeling somehow much sharper for it being less constant now. On those days, he would find himself unable to rouse himself from the chaise, and Phryne, noticing, would remain at home, wandering into the parlour every so often to give him a cup of tea, or ask if he wanted to talk, or once, when she thought he was asleep, stroke his hair off his forehead and sit with him, giving him strength just by her closeness.

But not every day was bad, and there were more moments now when he would find himself engrossed in a conversation with Bert and Cec, (the former of whom seemed to have re-evaluated his opinion of him and now treated him with a most surprising kind of respect) or shouting at Phryne to slow down the car and he would realise he hadn't thought about the case in the last hour or so. It was unfamiliar, after all those unrelenting days, but encouraging. And Phryne obviously delighted in it. When she walked into the parlour one afternoon to find him amusing himself by picking a tune out on the piano, the grin almost split her face in two.

It would have to end, of course. He couldn't stay here forever. The more he started to feel like himself, the less reason there was to remain in her house. But she never broached the subject, and he avoided it as well, reluctant to leave the cocoon her home had become against the outside world, and more honestly, to leave her. He would have to go home soon, he knew. But not yet.

()

It was sometime in the third week of his stay that Phryne breezed in late one afternoon, bringing with her a breath of lilacs and lavender and wearing a smile that was deeply infectious. He had been reading in the parlour, and his mood, which he would have already described as being of "a good day" lifted still further as she breezed in.

He marked the page in his book and put it to one side, waiting for her to tell him about her day. She was gabbling instructions to Dot as she entered and on seeing him, grinned widely.

"Jack!"

She always looked delighted to see him now, that expression of concern and pity only making a rare appearance when he was on a "bad day." He was reminded of the earlier days of their friendship, when she always seemed overjoyed and surprised to see him whenever he arrived at her home. Now that he was a semi-permanent presence, he was happy that that expression of near exultation still appeared on her face. It was one of many reasons that Phryne coming home was the best part of his day.

She sat across from him on the chaise, pulling her gloves off and tossing them down. "How was your afternoon?"

"Peaceful," he replied, returning her smile.

She pretended to look offended. "If you'd like me to go back out, you've only to say."

He chuckled. "What have you been up to? You smell rather floral."

She rolled her eyes. "Helping Aunt P with the flowers for some deathly dull event."

"I never picked you as the flower arranging type."

"Nor did she! I think she had an ulterior motive."

"Oh?"

She ignored him, getting up and popping her head back out the door to call something to Mr Butler.

She was smirking as she came back. Jack felt the first stirrings of suspicion.

"Well?"

She sat down again, shooting him an innocent look. "Well what, Jack?"

"You didn't answer my question, Miss Fisher."

"I don't believe you asked one."

"I said "oh?""

She cocked her head at him, her eyes sparkling. "Oh?"

He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak again when Mr Butler glided in bearing a tray of cocktails. He offered one to Jack, who looked at Phryne curiously.

"Help yourself, Sir," said Mr Butler.

Jack took one, and looked suspiciously at Phryne as Mr Butler shimmered silently away, first depositing the second cocktail with his smiling mistress.

"Virgin?" Jack enquired.

Phryne smiled wider and seemed on the point of a cheeky comeback, though miraculously, she held her tongue.

"The cocktail," he clarified, unable to hold back his own grin.

"Not in this house, Jack! Go on," she said. "You're allowed one. I checked with Mac."

Jack raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his margarita. It was delicious. He suspected Mr Butler had put rather less tequila in it than was usual, but he appreciated the gesture all the same.

"So what's this in aid of?"

"Mr Butler's cooking up a storm. A meal like that deserves pre-dinner cocktails."

Jack felt his stomach respond with interest. "What's on the menu?"

"Roast chicken."

He raised his eyebrows. "My favourite." He lifted his glass in a toast to Mr Butler and all his chickens.

"And," Phryne continued. "He's doing a _gratin_."

That did it. Jack placed his glass on the table smartly.

"Alright, Phryne what's going on?"

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, her eyebrows raised innocently.

"Cocktails, a roast, and now _gratin_?" Jack scoffed. "What are you after?"

She blew her breath out. "Always the detective…"

"Phryne…" Jack said warningly. He could stand a good deal more teasing these days, but as far as he was concerned the subject of his job was still off limits.

"Oh, all right." She put her margarita down on the side. "Aunt Prudence wanted to see me today to invite us round for tea tomorrow."

"Ah." Jack fell silent. His company over the past three weeks had been comprised purely of Phryne's extended family; Dot, Hugh, Mac, Mr Butler and, rather surprisingly, Cec and Bert. On the occasions they ventured out, he let Phryne do any of the talking that was required, whether it was buying treats from the ice cream vendors on the foreshore or saying hello to the people they passed on their walks. His experience of the citizenry of Melbourne had changed dramatically since the case. Everyone knew who he was, and for all the wrong reasons. It had taken him days to wander outside comfortably without feeling that people were staring at him, and every time the papers re-hashed the case (which was every other day, seemingly) he imagined it simply re-awakened the public's anger at him. A visit to Phryne's aunt meant 'people' – not just Mrs Stanley, who was in of herself a terrifying enough prospect, but the myriad servants and retainers at her large house. The thought of it made him feel hot and cold all over.

"Oh, come on, Jack," Phryne was obviously following his train of thought. "Aunt P has never believed one word in those horrible articles. She was always on your side."

"It's not about taking sides," he replied. He wouldn't blame anyone for holding a bad opinion of him, especially Prudence Stanley, who in addition to being a staunchly upright society dragon, was, in his opinion, a woman of outstanding moral character and deep kindness. (In fact, in private, he thought that Phryne probably had more in common with her aunt than she would care to admit.)

"She's been wanting to see you for weeks," Phryne continued. "I've been keeping you to myself, partly out of pure selfishness," Jack smiled at this, "but also, well, I didn't want to send you out of your wits."

"Again," added Jack drily.

Phryne gave him a look. "I mean it Jack. She's always thought well of you. This is her way of telling you that you have her support. And it'll be good for you. Tomorrow will be a lovely day, by all accounts! We'll sit by the pool, have tea and scones, feel the sun on our faces…"

Her enthusiasm was catching. But he still wasn't convinced. "You're sure the invitation wasn't just for you?"

"Not at all!" she exclaimed. "If anything, I think I'm an optional extra!"

Jack tilted his head, a half smile on his lips. "I think that has probably never been true."

She pursed her lips comically at the compliment. "I'm your plus one," she insisted. "You're free to take someone else if you like, but I would have thought it only polite…"

"Alright!" he stopped her faux rant with a raised hand. He nodded, noting without surprise that it wasn't at all a strain to give in, that really, he wanted more than anything to make her smile. "Tell Mrs Stanley I'd be honoured to accept her invitation."

Her face lit up in a bright smile. "Good!" she raised her glass again to salute him. "She'll be delighted."

He raised his glass in response and they both sipped their cocktails in contented silence.

After a few moments, he caught her eye.

"Do I still get _gratin_?"

"You, Jack, can have all the _gratin_ there is!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes:** Hello again and thanks for your patience and continuing reviews and favourites as I've been tied up with annoying real life! A fairly short update today, but with the solemn promise of more soon.

Happy weekend, everyone!

 **Previously:** Jack started getting better, slowly and surely, and Phryne passed on an invitation for afternoon tea!

Enjoy!

 **Chapter 15**

Prudence Stanley stood in her kitchen and surveyed her surroundings with pride. Preparations for the tea were going well. Cook had whipped up a splendid load of scones and cakes, and an entire platter full of delicious looking sandwiches. She walked back through the dining room and saw her housekeeper, Mrs Strout carefully removing china from the cabinet.

"Not that set, Mrs Strout," Mrs Stanley said irritably. "The jade floral set, if you please?"

Mrs Strout drew herself up creakily to her full height, which was only slightly taller than Mrs Stanley herself. Her eyes, rather protuberant and pale, like boiled gooseberries, looked shocked. "The best china, Ma'am?"

"Yes, yes," Mrs Stanley said impatiently. "Didn't I tell you earlier?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued out of the French windows and onto the terrace. Mrs Strout had only been with her a few months. Despite coming with excellent references from Lord and Lady Cavendish, fellow members of one of Mrs Stanley's many charitable boards, she wasn't all that pleased with her. She had a surly manner, and often only just managed to hide her displeasure at Mrs Stanley's instructions behind a stiff smile. She clearly wasn't happy about the guest list for tea – Mrs Strout was an avid _Globe_ reader. Mrs Stanley could only hope she kept her opinions to herself during the visit. Phryne's habitual pride in and defence of her Inspector had only grown to lioness like proportions over the last few weeks and she would be terrifying if roused. Hopefully Mrs Strout would behave herself though; after all she would be quite out of line to express any negative opinion she might have. Besides, she did have a very good hand with the brasses.

Mrs Stanley put Mrs Strout out of her mind and bustled round to the terrace by the pool to see that everything had been laid out as she had asked. Satisfied, she made her way round to the front of the house. It was beautiful spring day, hot and sunny but with a refreshing breeze that carried the scents of herb garden around the grounds most effectively. She was determined everything was as it should be for this tea.

When she thought back now, Mrs Stanley found it hard to recall exactly what her first recollection of Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was. She remembered a vaguely officious police officer from the Andrews house, and she remembered Phryne telling her later that the same police officer had been helpful in securing custody of young Jane. She knew her niece had formed a partnership of sorts with this Inspector, who, from what she could see, seemed to be a rather quiet, dour sort of a person. Not Phryne's type at all! But when that poor girl was found in Mrs Stanley's own swimming pool, and the Inspector investigated the case with a sensitivity and professionalism that highly impressed her, she decided she quite liked the man. When the case took that horrible, dizzying turn and began to endanger her own family, she became grateful for him. And when she saw him tenderly half carrying Phryne back into the house after they had finally found dear Janey, she made up her mind that he was possibly one of the best men in Melbourne.

It would never have done to tell him so, of course. After all, no matter how high regard she held him in, the obvious attraction between him and her niece was not really what she considered fitting, and certainly not to be overtly encouraged! At times, it needed to be downright interrupted!

But time passed, and her Arthur died, and Guy had married that ridiculous woman, and Henry Fisher was ruining lives yet again, and Jack Robinson was still by Phryne's side, a rock of strength. Times were changing, Mrs Stanley realised. Maybe the things that one thought were important, weren't so important anymore. Maybe, in fact, if anything should be encouraged, it should be something this true and enduring.

Then, Phryne had to go to England, and Mrs Stanley could guess at how much they missed each other. She fully anticipated a joyful and loving reunion between the two just as soon as her niece returned. But then, of course, fate stepped in.

Mrs Stanley had wept along with everyone else at the fate of poor Celia and Lucy. But when she read the stories in the papers about the case, she was furious. It wasn't as if she was on particularly close terms with the Inspector, but she knew enough of him to know how seriously he took his responsibility to the law and to the people he was bound to serve. When facing those duties, carelessness, or slipshod work, or lack of diligence simply weren't ideas that could be associated with him. In the pictures that had appeared of him in the press, he look tired and drawn and completely devastated. Mrs Stanley didn't feel like she should reach out to him, not with Phryne away. For all she knew, they were in communication, although she suspected the Inspector was more the type to withdraw rather than ask for help. She could empathise with that. But now that Phryne was back, she was determined to assist in the rehabilitation of Jack Robinson in any way she could.

She had asked Phryne to help her with the flowers for the St. Mary's orphanage fete purely to see what she could do. She had been rather shocked to hear that the Inspector was staying at Wardlow, and couldn't stop a slight frown from flickering across her face when Phryne told her so.

"I couldn't leave him on his own, Aunt P," Phryne had said, crossing her arms across her chest defensively and ignoring the sprigs of flowers on the table in front of her. "He was… he was in no fit state to look after himself."

Prudence saw her niece's eyes darken as she remembered the way Jack had been just a few short weeks ago.

"Yes, well, perhaps you were right, Phryne. Perhaps that was the charitable thing to do."

Phryne raised her eyebrows. "Charity had nothing to do with it. And Jack would hate it if he thought that it did."

Prudence was quiet for a moment, fussing with the arrangement of a bunch of lilacs. " _Agape_ ," she said.

"I beg your pardon?" Phryne wasn't sure she had heard.

" _Agape_ " her aunt repeated, still studiously avoiding her eyes. "It's Greek. In the New Testament, it's translated both as charity," she raised her eyes to meet her nieces "and as love."

There was a pause. She watched as her niece's normally strong defences rolled away. "Oh Aunt P," she whispered.

Prudence put a hand on Phryne's arm. "Tell me what I can do to help."

Phryne smiled gratefully but there was a note of bitterness as she replied: "You can tell the citizenry of Melbourne to stop behaving like asses and blaming Jack for what that monster Devlin did."

Her aunt nodded sympathetically. "I've been trying," she replied, in all sincerity.

"Me too. I wrote to the editor of the _Globe_ the other week but it doesn't seem to have done a blind bit of good."

"Hmm," Prudence said.

"What is it?"

"I was just remembering Lady Matlin."

"She's on your hospital board, isn't she? The rather glamourous widow? What about her?"

"One hears…." Prudence leaned closer, to all intents and purposes concentrating on her arrangement "… that she has been carrying on a dalliance… with Bertram Harper."

Phryne's eyebrows raised. Harper was the editor-in-chief at the _Globe_ and superficially, at least, a happily married man. "Gossip does move on in six months," she remarked.

"I'd quite forgotten the connection," Prudence mused. "There might be something there that can assist us…"

Phryne looked touched at her aunt's efforts to help. "Thank you, Aunt P. If opinion doesn't turn round soon I don't know what he'll do. It's a struggle to get him out of the house as it is."

She looked so forlorn that Prudence was moved to have her next idea. "He just needs to become acclimatised, my dear," she said. "I know. Why don't the two of you come to tea tomorrow?"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course! I don't know why I haven't suggested it sooner. A change of environment for the day will do him the world of good, and if he thinks that everyone who reads the _Globe_ is stupid enough to believe what that idiot Harper thinks, well, I'll soon prove him wrong about that."

She was glad to see that Phryne was smiling again.

"And what's more, when people hear he has been received at _my_ house, they'll know without a doubt that morally, he must be completely above reproach!"

Phryne laughed, whether as a result of her mood being lifted by the idea or at Prudence's concept of her own importance as a social barometer, her aunt wasn't quite sure. But she smiled in response as her niece pulled her in for a quick hug. "Thank you."

"Yes, well. Enough of that," Prudence said, pulling away awkwardly. "Carry on. Your dahlias are looking quite listless."


	16. Chapter 16

Notes:

I've had some really really lovely reviews today and I'm so grateful for you taking the time to share your feedback! It's really encouraging and keeps me tip tapping away more than is probably healthy!

So thanks all, and I hope you enjoy this next instalment!

Previously: Prudence prepared for an afternoon tea with some special guests...

 **Chapter 16**

Jack saw Mrs Stanley walking out to greet them as the Hispano roared up the drive. He took a deep breath, and got out of the car first, walking round to open the door for Phryne. He could feel Mrs Stanley appraising him, no doubt trying to judge if he looked as haggard as he had in the newspaper articles. He hoped he didn't. Phryne, as usual, looked radiant, dressed in a flowing red and pink sundress and an enormous white hat. She gave Jack a dazzling smile as he handed her out of the vehicle.

"Phryne!" her aunt called, and her niece went forward to receive a kiss.

"Hello, Aunt!"

"Inspector Robinson," Mrs Stanley began, before sensing a sudden tension in the atmosphere. Jack felt his face grow rather hot.

"Remember, Aunt P…" Phryne said, slipping her hand through Jack's arm.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" cried Mrs Stanley, mortified. "I forgot you're no longer… ah…"

Jack smiled reassuringly, knowing she had meant nothing by it. "It's quite alright, Mrs Stanley."

"Of course…" she flustered. "Ah... I'm afraid I don't know quite what to address you as. Mr Robinson sounds rather odd, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does," said Phryne, wrinkling her nose.

"You can call me Jack," Jack said easily.

"Very well… Jack." She obviously smiled, glad to have got that awkwardness out of the way. "I'm glad to see you looking so well," she said, with such obvious sincerity that Jack couldn't help but be touched.

"Thank you, Mrs Stanley. And thank you for the invitation."

"Not at all. Come around to the terrace."

They followed her around the house, Phryne giving Jack's arm a squeeze of encouragement. He looked down at her, touched and slightly amused by her obvious pride in the relatively unimpressive achievement of a conversation with Prudence Stanley.

The three of them settled themselves at a wooden table beside the pool, Phryne settling herself full in the sun and turning her face to the rays with obvious pleasure. Jack saw her face relax behind her round sunglasses, and began to relax too. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all.

A rather dowdy looking woman was setting down the tea things but didn't remain to pour, bustling back off into the house as soon as she could. Phryne eyed her retreating back sharply.

"Who's that?"

"Oh, my new housekeeper, Mrs Strout," Prudence answered, pouring out the tea herself. "I'm not altogether happy with her if truth be told. But she came from Lady Cavendish with excellent references."

Phryne snorted. "She was probably desperate to get rid of her. Miserable fish."

"Phryne!" Prudence looked outraged, but Jack hid a smile behind a delicious looking scone.

"How's Mary?" she asked, retaining a fondness for the ex-laundry girl she had helped to liberate from the convent.

"She's doing very well," answered Prudence with pride. "She helped Cook with all of this food, and she made those scones you are enjoying."

Jack had indeed just taken a large bite. "Excellent," he said, his voice slightly muffled.

The subject of her household staff now somewhat exhausted, Prudence was unsure. Should she reference the circumstances which had led the ex-Inspector to become her niece's temporary house guest? Or would it be politer to continue with the small talk and pretend the whole affair never happened?

She remembered another topic she could bring up safely. "I was telling someone about you the other day, Phryne, who was it now?"

"I shudder to think, Aunt," replied Phryne, sipping her tea. "What were you saying?"

"Someone was asking about all your cases." She furrowed her brow. "That was it! Mr Berridge!"

"Who?"

"Anthony Berridge. He's the nephew of one of the Trustees at the Melbourne Museum."

"And why were you telling him about me? Do I know him?"

"I don't think so. But he's in need of a detective."

Jack saw Phryne look quickly towards him, and he frowned. Prudence had caught the look too.

"Oh, I'm sorry…"

"No, Mrs Stanley…" Jack protested. "Phryne is a detective after all. There's absolutely no reason why I can't sit through a professional conversation." He aimed another sharp look at Phryne. Their future friendship was on pretty poor footing if she was going to be afraid to talk about her cases in front of him. Now that he thought about it, this must be the longest she had ever been without an investigation.

"I'm sorry," said Phryne, flustered. "I wasn't sure…"

"Please, Mrs Stanley," he said, turning to the older woman. "What's the case?"

Prudence still looked uncomfortable. "Well… Mr Berridge has just lost his father. And as if that wasn't bad enough, he's been completely disinherited. He thinks there may have been some funny business with the will."

"Who does he suspect?" Phryne asked, looking interested.

"His younger brother, Andrew. They've never got on, apparently."

"I see."

"Anyway, I could give him one of your cards," Prudence said, keen to finish a conversation she now wished she'd never brought up. "It's up to you if you take the case."

Phryne nodded, avoiding Jack's serious gaze.

"Where is Mrs Strout with that refill?" grumbled Prudence. "I don't know…." She got up, making her way back into the house to look for her housekeeper.

Phryne took another sip of her tea.

"Phryne?"

"Yes, Jack?"

He remained silent until she looked at him, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

"Don't pester me, Jack." She was uncomfortable with this. She had no intention of parading a case in front of him, and anyway, she was too focussed on Jack right now to give any investigation the attention it deserved. She had already decided to hold off on any detective work until she was confident that he was fully back to his old self. It simply wasn't a priority.

"Why don't you want the case?"

"I haven't decided if I want it or not!" she evaded.

He persisted. "Why not?"

"Jack – "

They were interrupted by Prudence bustling back over the stone terrace.

"Did you track her down?" Phryne asked brightly, ignoring Jack's glare.

"She's bringing more tea now. Now," she said, settling down in her chair and turning her focus to Jack. "Have you decided what you might want to do now that you're no longer with the Victorian police force?"

Phryne looked mildly shocked, but Jack didn't resent the question. "Not yet, I'm afraid. There were several careers I considered before the police but none of them seem very realistic now."

Phryne, slightly encouraged by his open discussion, smiled. "Buffalo Bill and cycling the Tour de France, if I remember correctly."

He smiled back. "Probably not both at the same time."

Prudence was considering. "I imagine you would have the necessary skills for security work," she mused. "And then there's always the army."

Jack shrugged, and Phryne looked disheartened that he didn't dismiss out of hand options that she considered him far too good for.

"What do you think?" Prudence asked her.

Phryne could only be honest. "I can't see you doing _anything_ else," she said to Jack. "You're a detective."

Jack tilted his head. "So are you," he said pointedly.

Phryne's mouth fell open slightly. "I know, but – "

Jack turned to Prudence. "She will take that case, Mrs Stanley. Please give Mr Berridge the card."

"Jack!" Phryne said, appalled. "I can make that decision for myself, thank you!"

He looked at her. "The only reason you were hesitating was because of me. I might have decided it's not for me anymore, but that's no reason for you to give up who you are, even temporarily." He continued in a quieter tone, shooting her a significant look. " _I would never ask you to do that_."

She recognised his reference, and smiled, knowing that he meant what he said. He had never wavered from that viewpoint. Looking over, she caught her Aunt looking at Jack with deep approval, and felt prouder of him than ever. She still had no intention of taking on a new case, but she knew he would hate her thinking like that, and she supposed things would have to go back to normal soon.

How normal would life be though, with a new detective sitting behind Jack's desk in City South? How often would their paths even cross? The idea of investigating without him was, she realised with a shock, unthinkable.

"You could help me," she suggested. "We could do it together."

His eyes hardened slightly. "No." The thought of being involved in another case, even if it wasn't a murder (and knowing, Phryne, it soon would be) was terrifying. But he knew she had meant well. "Thank you. But I'm finished with all that."

"I must say I find that rather hard to take."

It was Prudence who had spoken. Jack looked at her, surprised. She continued, lowering her voice slightly as Mrs Strout came back with a refill. "I know this has been an awful time for you, Jack. But I would feel remiss if I didn't tell you that no matter what those horrid newspapers say, I still consider you to be the finest police officer in the state."

Jack reddened, touched by her words but uncomfortable too. "Well –" But he stopped short as the Housekeeper lost her grip on the teapot and let it clatter onto the table. Mrs Strout's boiled gooseberry eyes went from her employer to Jack, seemingly incredulous that Mrs Stanley's words were meant for him. Jack felt the hair prick up on the back of his neck as he registered the familiar look of anger and indignation on her face. This woman did not like him.

"Be careful, Mrs Strout!" Prudence snapped.

"Sorry, Ma'am." Mrs Strout picked up a plate of sandwiches and offered it to Phryne, who declined, observing the woman with suspicion. She then offered the plate to Prudence, but instead of passing it next to Jack, she pointedly replaced it on the table. She shot Jack a righteous look and then turned on her heel and flounced back into the house.

"Well!" cried Phryne, outraged.

Prudence was bright red and trembling with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, Inspector…. er, Jack."

He held up a hand, feeling frozen inside but determined to spare his hostess any unease. "Please, Mrs Stanley. Don't concern yourself. It's nothing. Maybe your housekeeper is… unwell."

Still red, but grateful for the lifeline, Prudence nodded. "Perhaps."

"She will be if I get my hands on her," Phryne muttered. Jack pretended not to hear, and took a sandwich. When he bit into it, it tasted of nothing at all.

()

The rest of the afternoon passed relatively peacefully, with Jack doing his best to prove that Mrs Strout's behaviour hadn't adversely affected him. Prudence and Phryne had gone to such effort to make him feel comfortable and welcome, and he didn't want to them to think that the afternoon had backfired. He kept up with the pace of the conversation, asking Mrs Stanley questions about her various projects and entering whole heartedly into a passionate discussion of her grounds and in particular, her herb garden.

Eventually, the sun went in and they went into the lounge to finish their tea. About an hour later Phryne looked at the clock and said they should be making their way home. Prudence followed them out through the hall, chatting happily about Mr Berridge and how keen he would be to contact Phryne. As the passed a front room, Mrs Strout was just visible, her back to the door as she talked to another member of Mrs Stanley's staff. Her voice sailed out to meet them:

…" how Mrs Stanley can even have him in the house, I really do not – "

Phryne gasped and Prudence drew herself to full height, reddening again. "Mrs Strout!" she shouted.

Mrs Strout turned round and gawped on seeing the shocked faces of her employer and her guests.

"Kindly go and collect your things, and then leave this house!" Prudence continued, her voice like a knife.

The housekeeper blinked, and then stormed past them with a sullen expression. "I'm only saying what everyone is thinking!" she snapped as she went.

Jack saw Phryne's eyes widen and she pitched forward to follow the woman, clearly intent on having it out. Jack grabbed her elbow.

"Leave it, Phryne," he said quietly.

She looked at him, surprised. "But, Jack, she can't get away with that!" Jack noticed she was trembling with anger and he gave her arm a squeeze.

"She hasn't," he replied, nodding at Prudence, who was looking after her ex-housekeeper with fury.

"Certainly not!" Prudence cried. "That woman will never keep house in Victoria again, you have my word on that."

"It isn't enough," Phryne fairly snarled.

"Let's just go," Jack said. He didn't want to make Prudence feel any worse, but he wasn't at all sure how much longer he could keep it together. He desperately wanted to be back at Wardlow.

She seemed to look at him properly and took in the tight set of his jaw. He looked very white. "Of course," she said, and this time it was her turn to give his arm a squeeze as she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow.

Prudence farewelled them, clearly mortified and apologising profusely. Phryne, realising Jack had lost the will to speak, tried her best to spare her Aunt's feelings as she propelled Jack towards the Hispano. As he climbed into the passenger side, she ran back to give her a quick hug.

"I'm so sorry, Phryne," Prudence whispered, with an expression approaching devastation.

"It's not your fault Aunt P," Phryne said. "I'll make sure he's alright."

"Of course you will, my dear."

She kissed her niece and then went back into the house.

"Mary!" She called.

The young woman came quickly into the hall. "Yes Ma'am?"

Prudence fixed her with a firm look. "Mary, congratulations."

"For what, Ma'am?"

"You've just been promoted," Prudence stated.

"Oh!"

"Your first task as housekeeper is to go upstairs and throw that Strout woman, and whatever possessions she has not yet packed, out through the back door!"

Mary's eyes widened with pleasure and she grinned eagerly. She had never liked Mrs Strout. "Yes Ma'am!"

()

Phryne had only been driving for five minutes when she pulled the Hispano to the side of a country road and stopped.

Jack frowned. "What are you doing?"

"I didn't want to go all the way back to town without talking about what happened."

Jack took a deep breath. "I'm alright," he said, calmly.

"Jack…"

"Honestly." He had thought he was in trouble back at the house. That familiar feeling of the walls closing in had come back, and he had felt hot and cold and desperate to leave. The only thing anchoring him to reality had been Phryne's arm securely through his own. But as he climbed into the car and Phryne sped away with her usual lack of respect for the limit, he could feel the suffocation leave him, as if the feeling had been blasted away by the velocity. And now that it was just the two of them, he could feel his heart rate slow down and his equilibrium begin to right itself.

She was looking at him with eyes that were full of concern, and he wanted more than anything to just be alright for her. "I know it wasn't pleasant, but…"

"Not pleasant?" Phryne said incredulously. "That awful woman! What was Aunt Prudence thinking by hiring her?"

"It wasn't her fault."

She blew out her breath. "I suppose not. But, Jack, I'm so sorry. It was just meant to be a nice afternoon tea."

"It was. Well, up until…" he huffed out a small laugh.

She looked at him closely. "Are you sure you're alright?" She reached over and took his hand in hers, noting that it was trembling slightly.

Jack nodded, holding her eyes.

"You wouldn't just say you were alright if you weren't, would you?" she asked quietly. "You would tell me?" She held his hand tighter. "Please."

Jack considered, taking the time to choose his words. "It was… what I was afraid of," he said carefully. "But I thought it might be worse than that. It's what people will be saying after all. I have to get used to it. I can't hide at your house forever." He looked down, slightly ashamed.

"Is that what you think you're doing?" Phryne said. "Hiding?"

He nodded again. "But I do want to get back to normal," he said.

"You don't have to rush anything," Phryne said tenderly.

He gave her a sad smile. "Thanks."

Phryne returned his smile. "Shall we go home?"

He nodded. Home.


	17. Chapter 17

Notes:

Phew! This turned out to be the longest chapter yet but when I got started on Phryne and Jack contemplating life post-crisis it was too fascinating a seam to stop mining.

Thanks for sticking with me!

Previously: Tea with Prudence didn't go according to plan, and Jack learns Phryne is reluctant to take on a new case.

 **Chapter 17**

It came as no surprise to Jack that Phryne didn't go out the next morning as she normally would do. She clearly expected him to have a bad day after the incident at her Aunt's, and she remained at home, determined to be there for Jack if she was needed.

It would have been refreshing to prove her wrong. But it was harder to get up than it had been, and although he kept reassuring her that he was alright, it was a struggle to keep his mind on his book. As the day wore on, his own frustration at himself increased. But he realised that aside from Mrs Strout, there was something that was bothering him more. And Phryne had asked him to be honest with her, so….

"Can I talk to you?"

He was leaning against the door frame of the dining room. Dot and Phryne had been sitting at the large table, looking at the designs for this famous new dress for Jane.

"Of course," Phryne looked up with surprise.

Dot stood and gathered up the papers. "I'll go and telephone Madame Fleuri, Miss," she said.

"Thank you, Dot. And ask her to dispense with the bows, would you? Jane is 16. She's not a little girl."

"Yes Miss."

She slipped out, her arms laden down with drawings, flashing a quick smile at Jack as she left.

"16," Jack said, wonderingly, thinking back to the scared but stubborn little girl they had first encountered together on the train to Ballarat.

"I know!" Phryne smiled and shook her head. "I can hardly believe it."

"When is she back?"

"Two weeks!" Phryne's excitement was evident.

Two weeks. So he should really be out of the way by then. All the more reason to say what he had to say.

He walked round the table and sat in the chair next to her, pulling it out so that he faced her square on.

She looked concerned. "Is everything alright? You haven't been worrying about that awful woman?"

"No, it's not about that."

She tilted her head enquiringly.

He took a deep breath. "It's about the case."

"Jack!" She sat back in chair, annoyed. "I told you, I will make the decision about taking the case."

"But you've already made it," Jack argued. "I know you have. And I know why."

"You seem to have a lot of confidence in your ability to read me," she muttered irritably.

"I do. And you shouldn't shatter it, Phryne. My confidence is in short supply just now."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you making jokes, Jack Robinson?"

"Yes I am," he spread his hands. "So you don't need to be worried anymore."

Her expression softened. "Jack…"

"I'm serious, Phryne." He reached out to briefly cover her hand where it lay on the table. "Alright, there are good days and bad days, but I can deal with the bad days much better than before."

She looked unconvinced.

"I'm sleeping better. I'm only drinking what you hand me…" she smiled at this "…and I'm eating so much that the waistband on my trousers is very nearly too tight."

She laughed quietly. "I don't believe that for a second."

He smiled, but remained silent.

"Jack…" she turned in her chair to mirror him. "It's not that I think you can't be left on your own for any length of time. That's not why I'm not taking the case. I know how far you've come and that you want to get back to normal."

"Normal is you investigating cases."

"No," she shook her head. "Normal is _us_ investigating cases."

"Phryne…"

"I know you feel you can't go back. And in the long run, I won't give it up."

He was glad to hear it. "Well, then."

"But I am putting it off," she admitted.

"Why?"

"Because…" she hesitated, then burst out: "What are we going to talk about when I'm a detective and you're not?"

Jack was shocked. "That's what's holding you back?"

"Yes! Why do you looked so surprised?"

He shook his head. "It's just the idea that we would have nothing to say to each other. I've spent most of our acquaintance trying to get a word in edgeways."

She smiled, but the worry was still there. "But I won't want to throw my cases in your face all the time. I would feel such a beast!"

"Why?"

"Well, because…"

"Because I made my own decision to stop doing it? I'll still want to hear about what you're doing, Phryne."

"Really?"

"Really." He didn't add that he would find whatever she was doing infinitely interesting, simply because she was doing it.

"There will be times you won't want to hear about it," she said seriously, leaning forward.

He looked thoughtful. "You mean if there's a case that reminds me…"

"Yes."

"Alright." He considered. "Let's make a deal. I'll promise to let you know when I don't want to hear it. And you…" he smiled affectionately, "you have to promise to feign a passing interest in… gardening, or hiking, or pottery, or still life, or whatever it is I've decided to do."

She was laughing now, her head bowed. He smiled at her shiny cap of hair, resisting the urge to reach out and stroke it. Instead, he prompted her. "What do you say?"

She nodded, the laughter still on her lips. "Deal."

"So you'll take the case?"

She considered. "It did sound rather interesting."

"Good." He leant back in his chair. Mission accomplished. He noticed her eyeing him.

"What?"

She quirked her head at him. "Please don't take up pottery."

"Probably not."

()

Prudence telephoned in the afternoon. Dot handed the phone to Phryne as she appeared in the hallway.

"Hello?"

"Phryne? How is he?"

Phryne lowered her voice, looking around for him. "He seems alright."

"Seems?"

"I think there may be a touch of the brave face. But in general, I thought he would be more affected than he seems to be."

"Phryne…" Prudence's rich voice was full of contrition. "I can't apologise enough for that woman."

"It wasn't your fault, Aunt P."

"It happened in my house," she answered stubbornly. "The responsibility is mine."

"I don't agree. But I presume she is now off the premises?"

"Certainly! And she'll do well not to apply to another post within a fifty mile radius!"

"Good." said Phryne, with grim satisfaction.

"Now, Phryne. I want to make it up to you."

"There's no need, really…"

"Listen, child! Do you remember me telling you about Lady Matlin?"

"The one who's stepping out with Bertram Harper?"

"Yes. I saw her today at my board meeting."

Phryne raised her eyebrows with interest. "A spot of blackmail before lunch, Aunt P?"

"Certainly not!" Prudence sounded affronted. "That would be quite the wrong way to go about it. She has no idea I knew that she was the one messing around with Harper."

"So what…"

"I simply filled her in on the true facts of the case and how I considered the _Globe_ to be thoroughly in the wrong. She looked quite nervous."

"I bet she did."

"I told her that I thought it was highly suspicious that the paper hadn't mentioned anything about the man who saw the little girl being carried into that building…"

"The one who was trying to hide his affair?"

"Precisely. I confided to her - acting quite the scandalmonger, you know – that the rumour was Harper had deliberately played down that element so as not to draw attention to his own affair!"

Phryne grinned. "What did she say?"

"She said she was sure that wasn't the case (which actually I don't think it is, but never mind) but I assured her that it was all anyone was talking about. She left rather abruptly."

"Presumably to have a quiet word with her paramour," Phryne said, approvingly. She hadn't credited her Aunt with such skill.

"One can only hope," she replied. "Nothing may come of it, of course, but it was worth a try."

Phryne smiled gratefully. "Thank you Aunt P."

"I've also spent most of the morning telling anyone who will listen that you and Jack had tea with me yesterday – leaving out the nasty incident with Mrs Stroud of course. The tide will turn, Phryne. You'll see. Now, is Jack there? I'd like to apologise to him personally."

"Oh. Of course – Jack!" she shouted through to the kitchen.

"I won't tell him about Lady Matlin, of course."

"No, best not. Ah!" Jack had appeared in the hallway and was looking at her enquiringly. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. "Aunt Prudence," she whispered. "She wants to apologise for yesterday."

Jack rolled his eyes but looked touched at the gesture nonetheless. He put his hand out for the receiver, but Phryne was on the phone again.

"What was that, Aunt P?"

"I said, what do you want me to do about this case?"

"Oh, the Berridge case," Phryne said, looking at Jack uncertainly. He raised his eyebrows encouragingly.

"Yes, shall I give Mr Berridge your card?"

Phryne looked carefully into Jack's eyes. "Yes," she said, after a momentary hesitation. "Tell him I'll take the case."

Jack smiled approvingly.

"Yes, here he is, Aunt. I'll speak to you later. Goodbye." She handed Jack the telephone and he nodded at her as he picked it up.

"Hello, Mrs Stanley. No, there's no need to apologise."

Phryne left him to it and went into the parlour, lost in thought as she stood by window.

Had she done the right thing by agreeing to take on a new case? She knew Jack had tried his best to show her that it was what he wanted her to do, but deep down, she could sense an insecurity in him.

She knew there was something more than a little selfish about her own uncertainty. She hadn't been lying when she said she was worried about what they would talk about. It might have been putting it a little simplistically, but it was less terrifying than saying more explicitly what was in her mind: what would their relationship be if they were no longer solving crimes together? She was having a tough enough time clarifying for herself what they were to each other; how much harder would it be when she was out on cases and he wasn't there? Would they even see each other?

The other problem was that she knew herself too well. She would be dragged into one mystery after another, fully caught up in it, desperate for Jack's input and unable to get it. Her hunger for the truth would take over and she would infect him with it. She would end up forcing him to get involved and help her. And it might break him.

Phryne shut her eyes, disgusted with her future and theoretical self. But she forced herself to pull herself together. She was going too fast. Imagining a future where she either avoided or ruined Jack was ridiculous when he was here in her house. There was still a long way to go. And it was only one case.

He appeared in the parlour doorway, a wry grin on his face. "It seems Mary has had a promotion."

She smiled tightly, her mind still focussed on her previous train of thought. "At least something good came out of yesterday."

"Well, that and your gainful employment." He came further towards her, his hands in his pockets, looking at her closely. "What's wrong?" he asked, a furrow appearing in his brow.

Her arms were folded across her chest in an uncharacteristically defensive manner.

"Phryne?"

"Are you sure this is what you want, Jack?"

"You mean you taking the case? I thought we talked about this," he replied gently.

"We did, but…"

"You don't believe me?"

Phryne blew out a breath. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "And that concerns me. And... I'm still worried about…" she averted her eyes from Jack. "What it will mean for us."

Jack looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I thought we…"

"I meant our… friendship," added Phryne quickly, still avoiding his eyes.

Jack nodded, and stood deep in thought for a few moments. Eventually he opened his mouth.

"I know I'm making a change that you don't agree with – "

"I understand why," Phryne interjected. "It's just…"

"I know, and I'm sorry. But it's my decision and I'll take full responsibility for it."

Even as she turned away from him, she knew her anger was unfair. "Splendid. Something else you can take responsibility for that isn't your fault. That'll help."

"I will manage whatever results from my decision," he said firmly. "I'll make sure it doesn't change us."

"How?" she asked sullenly and a little tearfully, still angled away from him.

"Phryne…" he reached out a placed his hand on her cheek, turning her to face him. She looked up at him unhappily, outraged at herself for acting so childishly, so selfishly. But he fixed her with calm, soulful eyes and she felt herself relax a little under her touch. "I'll still be here. Those nightcaps don't just have to happen at the end of a case, you know. And we can do other things. We'll have dinner. I'll... I'll learn to dance." His lips quirked up slightly. "You'll learn to obey the speed limit." He looked at her more seriously. "Whatever it takes. We'll still see each other. I'll make sure of it."

He let his hand drop, and Phryne followed it downward with her eyes. When she turned her lashes back up at him, she looked like a lost child.

"So you're not worried then?" Her voice sounded small, and it inspired an almost unbearable surge of affection in Jack's chest.

"No, I'm not worried about us," he said softly. "But if you gave up what you love doing for even one day because of me, then I would be really worried."

She nodded, feeling slightly reassured. They were standing very close together now and though she knew there were boundaries they should be obeying, she was unable to resist moving closer, burying her face in his warm chest and snaking her arms around his waist. She felt his arms enclose her in return, swaying them softly back and forward.

"I'm sorry, Jack, for being so selfish." Her voice was muffled.

"No you're not," he soothed, and she felt his hand come up to stroke her hair. "Not you."

She disentangled herself from him reluctantly, giving him a quick smile. "I suppose I better go and read up on inheritance law."

He raised his eyebrows in approval and smiled at her as she walked out. When she had gone, he sank down into an armchair. His hands were shaking slightly, but he nodded to himself, satisfied.

He was at this moment pursuing a sustained and proactive policy of 'getting back to normal'. His time here with Phryne, he knew, would come to an end and it would be much better for him in the long run if he were the one to cut the cord rather than her.

There were several things, however, that had to be in place before that could happen. Lying in bed last night, he had arranged them into a mental checklist. They all had to be completed before he could be considered properly 'himself' again, even if, right now, he didn't feel much like doing them. He felt confident that by the time he had checked them all the way off, he should have retained some semblance of normality. Or, at the very least, the outside appearance of it.

1\. Regain general physical health. Basically done.

2\. Face the general public without collapsing. Done. (Alright, only with one member of the public, but nevertheless.)

3\. Stop Phryne feeling like a nursemaid. Done (he hoped).

4\. Let Phryne be a detective again. (And by 'let' he didn't mean, 'allow', it was more in the sense of getting her to realise she could do it.) Done.

5\. Decide on new career. Not done at all.

6\. Go home.

Although the last two on his list still seemed far off, he was pleased to mentally tick off Number 4. Phryne's reluctance to discuss a new case at her Aunt's house had scared him badly. He had always been adamant throughout their relationship that he would not ask her to change. If she had felt she had to stop, or even pause her investigations because of him that would have been a catastrophic mistake. One that would only lead to bitterness and frustration in their future.

He wanted everything to go back to the way it had been, that was the gist of it. His checklist wasn't really about moving forward, he could admit that. It was about going back. Phryne had never worried about dancing around the feelings of the old Jack. She had seen him as a fellow soldier in the fight for truth, the two of the keeping step in a partnership of equals. They had told each other things nobody else knew. Phryne didn't keep things from the old Jack, wasn't afraid to mention things in front of him for fear of upsetting him.

He missed the old Jack.

Was it possible he was only two checklist items away? A part of him felt he was kidding himself. But another part felt good to have some idea of what to do, a plan of action after all these months of inaction. He knew it wasn't going to be possible to go back completely. Too much had been irreparably broken; his reputation for one, not to mention his will to carry on in the career that had been his life for years. He wasn't going to be Jack the Detective Inspector. He had to get used to that idea.

And Phryne did too. He wasn't surprised at her fears about their friendship. He would have been just as worried as she was, if the shoe was on the other foot. They had been partners for so long, how could they be any other way?

It was a friendship too, the best he'd ever had, but one that had a steady and (in those last few months before she went to England) certain trajectory. The old Jack had hope, he wasn't some burnt out husk of a man who was too afraid to even imagine how he could be good enough for her. The longer he was here, the more looks and touches they shared, the more reminded he was of the strength of his own feelings.

So, he wasn't worried about them drifting apart, or having nothing to say, or seeing each other less, because he knew he wouldn't let it happen. It's why he encouraged her to take the case. He knew how impossible it would be for her to give up the thing she loved most in the word. Because he would find it impossible to give up her.

And that was even more reason to get back to normal as soon as he could, because what if there _was_ some possibility than one day they could be back on that trajectory again? If he was himself again, maybe that part of him that still felt too worthless and guilty to contemplate his own happiness would back down. Maybe it would submit at last to those other voices in his head, heart, bones; everywhere really, that screamed incessantly at him to just, in the name of Christ, love her like he wanted to.

He'd asked her not to wait for him, and he would not change his mind. But maybe, just maybe, he could sort himself out in time.


	18. Chapter 18

Previously: Jack and Phryne contemplated life after their present crisis and Jack persuaded Phryne to take on a new case.

 **Chapter 18**

The doorbell rang at precisely 11 o'clock the next morning. At least her new client was punctual, thought Phryne, even if he didn't seem to have any other immediately obvious attributes. He looked nervy and slightly sweaty as Mr Butler showed him into the parlour, and shook Phryne's hand with a tight and clammy grip.

"Can I offer you a drink?" Phryne asked, thinking that Mr Berridge clearly needed to relax.

"Ah… no," replied her client. "Thank you." Mr Berridge was middle aged and pale, with a hurriedly receding hairline that eventually gave in to thick black hair, slicked straight back. His features were set rather far apart, and whether it was complexion or nerves, he seemed to be blushing furiously.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Mr Berridge," Phryne said, sitting down and indicating that he should sit himself.

"And you," he replied politely. "Your Aunt has told me so much about you. She's good friends with my own Aunt."

"Yes, I believe they are on the Museum board together."

Phryne let the conversation linger around the museum, hoping that her guest would begin to relax. Sure enough, Mr Berridge seemed happier as he chatted about exhibitions he had enjoyed and the work the Trustees were doing. Phryne was pleasantly surprised to see that, for all his superficially unprepossessing qualities, Anthony Berridge was a man of quiet wit and intelligence. Once he had got over his initial nervousness, she noticed he was a good conversationalist, seemingly interested in and knowledgeable of a hundred different topics. She wondered how many people stayed long enough to form that opinion. Probably, most quickly moved on from him to his younger brother, who, from what she understood, was something of a man about town.

Mr Berridge was pausing, something clearly on his mind.

"Your Aunt said you were… discreet?"

"An important quality in my line of work, Mr Berridge. Many of my clients who are suspicious of some sort of wrongdoing would not appreciate their accusations becoming more generally known."

He nodded. "That's it exactly, Miss Fisher. I'm afraid my relationship with my brother has been strained for some years. But I'm fond of his wife and see my nephews and nieces often." There was a fondness in his eyes that again, was only apparent now. "I would hate to jeopardise that over my getting the wrong end of the stick."

"Of course. But I take it, then, that you suspect your brother of falsifying the will?"

"It simply doesn't make sense. My brother can charm the birds from the trees when there's something in it for him. But I was well aware of my father's testamentary intentions. He was no fool when it came to Andrew."

 _And neither are you_ , Phryne thought. He had impressed her with his quiet candour, and it spoke well for him that he hadn't let a sibling feud come between his relationships with the rest of his family.

"I would need to speak to Andrew, of course," she warned.

"Yes, of course, I understand. But this is why I came to you rather than my solicitors. I understood that it may possible to investigate… indirectly."

Phryne's eyes flashed with enjoyment. "Do you intend to send me in undercover, Mr Berridge?" She spoke somewhat gleefully.

Mr Berridge laughed, genuine humour in his expression. "I don't mean to suggest you concoct a false identity, Miss Fisher. Although, if it pleases you, do feel free. I just thought that maybe when you speak to him…?"

"I could leave out that part about being a private detective hired by his brother to investigate him?"

"Indeed," he replied, with some relief.

"I believe I could manage that."

She smiled. "So, you'll take the case?" he asked hopefully.

"Certainly," answered Phryne, standing up. "If you send around the details, I can begin at once!"

He smiled gratefully, standing to join her. At that moment, the door opened and Jack came into the parlour, stopping short when he realised Phryne had a guest.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He made to leave, but Phryne stopped him.

"Don't worry, Jack. We were just finishing. This is Mr Anthony Berridge," she said, introducing the two men.

"Ah, pleased to meet you," Jack said, flashing a significant look at Phryne. He reached over to shake the hand of her new client.

"Mr Jack Robinson is… my current houseguest," Phryne was saying to Mr Berridge.

Mr Berridge looked hard at Jack, a thoughtful look on his face. "Robinson…" he murmured, almost to himself.

Jack braced himself for the inevitable.

"Oh!" A look of realisation crossed Mr Berridge's face. Phryne swallowed nervously, looking between her client and Jack.

"You were the detective in the Cosgrove…" he trailed off as Jack nodded slowly, his eyes on the ground.

Phryne opened her mouth to say something, but Mr Berridge beat her to it.

"I'm sorry."

Jack's head snapped up in surprise.

"It must have been very difficult for everyone involved," he continued, genuine sympathy in his eyes.

"It was," Jack choked out, his voice more constricted by shock than anything else.

Mr Berridge nodded. "One can see how passions would run high. But Mrs Stanley told my Aunt that the _Globe_ had the details completely upside down. I must say, I had already cancelled my subscription as a result of their coverage, but I believe she has persuaded quite a few others to do the same."

Phryne bit a lip, concealing a grin. Aunt P had certainly been out in full force.

Jack's mouth was open. Phryne came to his rescue. "Thank you for saying that, Mr Berridge. Now do send me the details, and I'll be sure to get started on the case as soon as possible."

"Of course, Miss Fisher." Mr Berridge took his leave. When Phryne returned to the parlour, Jack turned to face her.

"So," he said. "Mrs Stanley has been conducting her own public relations campaign in my defence, has she?"

Phryne stopped, suddenly afraid he would be annoyed at them for interfering.

"Don't be angry," she pleaded.

He smiled, digging his hands into his pocket. "I'm not," he answered honestly. He was rather touched by Mrs Stanley's efforts on his behalf.

"It's just what she thinks. And what I think. And apparently others!" She smiled jubilantly and walked toward him, willing him to join in with her enthusiasm. "The tide is turning, Jack." She reached up to adjust his tie. "One day the Mr Berridges of the world will outweigh the Mrs Strouts."

He wanted to believe it. But he hadn't included this on his checklist (7. Change Melbourne's mind) because he had considered the task to be impossible. There may be a couple of well-wishers who could make their own minds up, like Mr Berridge. But there were also hundreds and hundreds of citizens; mothers, probably and fathers, who were too terrified by the existence of someone like Devlin and needed somewhere to direct their fear and hatred. Was it really possible to imagine that all that could just stop?

Phryne was looking up at him hopefully, and he didn't want to voice all that uncertainty and negativity. The old Jack wouldn't. So he smiled down at her. "Maybe."

She rewarded him with another smile and smoothed out his lapels with pride.

"So, a new case begins," said Jack brightly, keen to change the subject.

"It does," replied Phryne. "And I think it may just call for a new outfit!" She ran lightly to the door, calling to Dot. "Do you have time to go shopping before your appointment, Dot?"

Dot answered in the affirmative, and Phryne turned back to Jack. "Do you want to come?"

"Ah, no," Jack laughed, happy nonetheless to observe her excitement. She flitted back to him to give him a light kiss on the cheek goodbye. He was pleasantly surprised, and managed to regain his thought processes in time to grab her hand before she was away again.

"Phryne?"

She turned back towards him, her eyebrows raised inquiringly.

"I'm glad you took the case," Jack said seriously.

She smiled softly. "Thank you, Jack," she said sincerely. She gave his hand a last squeeze before she was off again, leaving only a hint of French perfume, and Jack, who smiled slightly to himself.

It was all progressing, he thought. His list was being worked on, Phryne was a detective again.

But his smile faded as a thought that had been niggling at him worked its way obstinately to the front of his mind.

Why didn't he feel any better?

()

Shopping trip completed, Phryne and Jack were sipping pre-dinner sherries in the parlour when Hugh came to collect Dot after work.

Phryne had already bid Dot farewell for the day, so she was surprised when Dot slipped back into the parlour, leading a blushing Hugh behind her.

"Dot! I thought you'd gone?"

"Ah, not yet, Miss." Dot was also a deep shade of red. "Would you mind if I asked Cec and Bert to come in here for a moment?"

"Of course not!" Dot disappeared and Phryne turned her focus onto Hugh.

"Is everything alright, Hugh?" After dropping Dot off at a doctor's appointment earlier today, she thought she had a pretty shrewd idea of what was going on, but she couldn't resist torturing the young Constable slightly in the meantime.

"Ah, of course," Hugh said. "Good evening, Miss," he said, realising he hadn't said it before. "Sir," he said to Jack, before stammering to a halt. "Ah, not Sir. I meant the Inspector. No, I mean – "

"Let's just stick to Jack, shall we?" said Jack. He was finding people's reluctance to disassociate him with his previous role somewhat irritating, but on Hugh it was rather amusing. He shared a glance with Phryne, who, he noticed, was looking rather pleased about something.

Dot was back, dragging with her Cec and Bert. The two cabbies looked rather reluctant to be out of their comfort zone of the kitchen, but were being ably shepherded from behind by Mr Butler. Mr Butler, Jack noticed, was also wearing a rather complacent expression which he shared with Phryne.

"Well?" Phryne said. "Don't keep us in suspense!"

Hugh had taken his wife's hand proudly and was nodding at her to speak. Phryne could already feel the smile break out across her face.

"It's just that we have some good news we'd like to share with you all," Dot said, her face bright with happiness.

"We're going to have a baby!" Hugh burst out.

"Hugh!" Dot remonstrated. They had agreed she was going to say it. But her protest was lost in the shouts of congratulation and howls of delight, and the couple were soon swallowed up in hugs and well wishes. Cec even picked up Dot and swung her around, only to put her straight down again, apologising profusely for endangering her health. Dot only laughed and awarded him a kiss on the cheek before being drawn into a tight hug by Phryne.

"I'm so happy for you, Dot," Phryne whispered, and indeed, when they broke apart Dot could see moisture in her eyes.

"So am I, Miss!" Dot admitted tearfully.

Phryne laughed delightedly and looked back to see Jack, standing slightly outside of the group. She extended an arm to him and he came towards her, greeting Dot with a kiss on the cheek and shaking hands with Hugh.

"Congratulations, Hugh," he said warmly.

Hugh looked delighted but was immediately distracted by Mr Butler giving out glasses of champagne. Phryne noticed Jack sink back again, retreating to the edges of the happy group. She picked up a glass and offered it to him.

"Champagne, Jack?"

He shook his head, a smile on his face that Phryne knew wasn't genuine. She went to replace the glass and go to him, but he gave another quick shake of his head that clearly meant "not now."

Her attention was claimed again by Dot, who was imploring her to intervene in some furious betting over whether the baby would be a boy and a girl.

"It only has to be happy and healthy," Phryne proclaimed. "And with Dot and Hugh as its parents I would say that's a very safe bet."

There was a general cheer, and Phryne supervised another round of pouring champagne. Hugh stood with his arm protectively around his wife, and Phryne was drawn back to that first morning in their kitchen, how upset Dot had been and how much she and Hugh had suffered these last few months. She was so happy that there was some good news for them now, and something she knew Dot had been hoping and wishing for ever since they got married.

A child for Dot and Hugh, a new case, and a shift in the opinion of Melbourne's _Globe_ readers. If it hadn't been for the look on Jack's face a few moments earlier, Phryne would have said that things were looking up.

But when she next looked in his direction, he had gone.


	19. Chapter 19

Notes: Wow! The feedback today has been incredible, and so nice seeing people working their way through the story and enjoying it. I can only hope it continues to live up to your expectations!

Previously: Phryne met her new client, and Jack didn't seem to react well to Dot and Hugh's happy news.

 **Chapter 19**

He sat on his bed, trembling a little. He felt deeply ashamed of himself.

He'd heard Hugh say the words, he'd seen the joy on their faces, observed everyone else's reactions and waited for that same happiness to wash over him.

It didn't.

He froze for a few moments, waiting, sure it was going to happen. But as the group surged around the happy couple, and he watched even Phryne get teary eyed at the prospect of a baby Collins, he felt completely devoid of emotion.

Objectively, of course, he was happy for them. He knew how much Hugh wanted a child, he'd made repeated references to it when they still worked together. It was, of course, a good thing that this had happened.

But joy wasn't supposed to be objective, was it? It was a purely subjective emotion, dependant entirely on the bearer's viewpoint, on their feelings for the subject. Did he not have any feelings any more, was that it? Had this thing made him this selfish?

He hated the prospect, and groped around unhappily for another explanation. Was he jealous? He dismissed it straight away. As much as Jack had once dreamt of his own children, he had long since given up on the idea of having any of his own. It would have been courting disaster to fetch a child into a marriage as broken as his and Rosie's, even if they could have. No, he didn't begrudge Hugh his chance at fatherhood.

Did he worry that Hugh and Dot would change towards him? He considered it. Policeman who were fathers took those cases worst, he remembered. They couldn't look at a dead child, couldn't bear to be reminded of the mortality of their own family, how quickly fate could snatch their happiness away. Those fathers and mothers who hated Jack; would Dot and Hugh become part of that? Would their parenthood make them angrier at his failure to save a child?

It wasn't logical, he thought. But then he was beginning to realise that this thing, this dark, dense shroud that he couldn't shake, wasn't logical. It settled on him in inopportune moments, when he thought everything was fine; it descended like a fine black mist over even the happiest occasions, separating him from everyone else.

And that's what it did best, this grief, this guilt, whatever it was. He was beginning to realise that too. It cut him off from people. He was marooned on an island, with no way back, that was what it felt like. And even Phryne, his touchstone, seemed miles away.

He'd tried to fight it with logic; that was the joke of it. Armed with his idiotic list, convinced that if he just acted like everything was alright, then it would be. As if it did any good at all, going through the motions of recovery if his stubborn mind was determined to stay doggedly where it was.

He put a hand to his mouth, horrified to be stifling a sob.

There was a tap on the door and he gulped hastily, trying to stuff his outburst back inside him out of the way.

Of course, it was Phryne. He almost laughed at the impudence of her turning up, just when he was bemoaning how far away she was. He tried to compose his face, painfully aware of how little he was succeeding. If he could just hold on a little longer…

But she took one look at him and shut the door behind her, leaning up against it as she watched him.

He tried bravely to put resilience and confidence and courage onto his face, but felt each one being rejected in turn. He had no option but to drop his guard, allowing her eyes to sweep over him and understand.

"Jack…" she almost whispered. She came to sit beside him and he was reminded painfully of when she came to find him at Janey's grave. He could have sobbed, right here in this room, just at the fact that nothing seemed to have changed from that day to this.

He spoke and it was a desperate effort to keep his voice level.

"You haven't left them?"

"They went home," Phryne said softly. "I've promised them a party tomorrow night with Mac and everyone."

He nodded.

"They didn't notice you leave," she said.

"Good."

A pause. "What happened?"

He made the effort to speak, because he didn't want to be sullen and dark and bitter. He wanted to be honest with her, even though it meant carefully detangling all the good work he had done convincing her he was getting better. He told her just what he had felt, that awful feeling of waiting to be happy and then realising it wasn't going to happen. He felt as if this was the worst thing he had admitted so far, this inability to rejoice at the happiness of two people they both loved as if they were family. He told her how much he wanted to feel better, how good it felt when he had a good day, how utterly soul destroying it was when he had a bad one and he felt like he was back to square one.

She listened, not interrupting, not touching him, just listening to him speak.

Eventually, when she was sure there was nothing else left, she took his hand in hers.

"Thank you for telling me."

He didn't say anything, almost regretting it already, but feeling slightly lighter.

"Why didn't you tell me all of this before? Why did you pretend to be fine?"

"It wasn't really pretending," he said. "It was hoping."

She nodded, understanding the feeling of just wanting to brazen something out. "I don't think you can really just hope these things better."

"I know. I just…" There was a silence. "There has to be an end to this, Phryne," he said. "I need to be able to see it."

"What does it look like?"

Jack raised his head to look at her, surprised by the question. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Then how do you know what to look for?"

He was silent, thinking about it. He shook his head, looking on the verge of tears. Phryne let go of his hand and let herself touch his cheek softly.

"Darling," she said softly, her heart breaking for him yet again. "You want absolution. But you want it for something that was never your fault in the first place."

Jack shut his eyes and leaned into her palm. He wanted it to be true.

"It's a double negative," Phryne continued. "It doesn't exist. How will you ever get to the end of this if you're always searching for something that isn't there? How will you ever get rid of that guilt?"

Searching. That was it. That's what he had been doing, ever since Lucy went missing.

"That evil man took those two little girls, and they didn't come back," Phryne said, her eyes shimmering in the low lights. "And if that wasn't bad enough…" she put her other hand up to his other cheek, framing his sad face. "Now he's got you too."

Jack felt a tear roll down his cheek as he looked at her beautiful face, creased with love and worry.

"Come back," she whispered tearfully.

Jack all of a sudden felt unbearably exhausted. He let his head fall forward, leaning against her chest. Her hands went to his head and stroked through his hair. She continued to whisper to him, reassuring him, soothing him. He could almost feel himself drifting off, and he reluctantly drew himself away before he did.

Phryne looked at him searchingly. "You need to sleep for a little while," she said softly, her hands still loosely around his neck.

Jack nodded, and the prospect of her staying with him was just beginning to coalesce in his mind when he remembered something.

"You're going out tonight," he said. "The case. You said you were starting tonight."

"It can wait," Phryne said. "I'll stay with you."

At this moment, it was what he wanted most of all. But he had persuaded her to take this case, and now he was making it impossible for her at the first hurdle. Not to mention ruining everyone's evening.

"No," he said. "You should go."

"I don't want to," Phryne said, quietly.

"But you promised Mr Berridge. And I would feel worse if you didn't go because of me."

"Jack…" she said, looking stricken.

"Honestly, Phryne. I'm only going to sleep. There's no point in you staying in when you could be making a head start on the case."

Phryne drew her hands back and looked hard at him, trying to decide if he meant it. He kept doing this to her, sharing moments that were intimate and deep, and she knew she was seeing absolutely everything of him and then retreating back to some pre-determined comfort zone where she was never sure if he was telling her just what she wanted to hear.

"I'll sit with you until you fall asleep," she compromised. "And then I'll go."

He looked suspiciously at her and she despaired of the two of them, one minute so close, the next so full of doubt. And yet all of it happening because each wanted the best for the other.

 _One has to laugh_ , she thought. _Otherwise… Anyway._

"I promise," she added, with a small smile.

He seemed to relax, trusting that she would do what she said.

She left the room, thinking she could get changed into her outfit for the evening and give him a chance to change into his pyjamas. She had a feeling the time when she could have undressed him herself may have long since passed.

Her plan for the evening was to strike up a conversation with Andrew Berridge at a club he was known to frequent, The 606. It called for elegant attire, so she pulled on her new purchase, a glittering silver dress and matching shoes. She fixed a sparkling ornament into her hair, and then, for warmth just now, wrapped a soft black shawl around her shoulders.

When she knocked on Jack's door and entered, he was just climbing under the covers, his eyes looking heavy.

"What have you got there?" he asked. She was carrying an old newspaper.

"An article about the Berridge family fortune," she said. "Dot found it today, I haven't had a chance to read it through yet."

He looked at her with interest, although Phryne suspected that the fight with his eyelids wouldn't last long. She sat down on the bed beside him, leaning back against the headboard as she showed it to him.

"That's their house?" he said sleepily. A large, ornate mansion was pictured in the article.

"Yes, so it's not an inheritance to be sniffed at," she replied. "And one you might go to great lengths to safeguard." He leaned closer to her, reading the article whilst leaning against her arm slightly.

"What's the plan?" he yawned.

"I thought I'd try and approach the brother indirectly. Apparently he's a regular at The 606."

Jack nodded, his eyes fluttering. "Good plan."

Phryne smiled down at him, shifting her arm so she could touch his hair. "Jack Robinson, encouraging my plans. Who would have thought it?"

"It's your case," he replied quietly. "You'll have it solved in minutes." His eyes were fully shut now as he began to succumb to the soft feel of her shawl under his cheek and the soothing motion of her fingers against his scalp.

"Minutes?"

"Seconds. And," his voice was now quite indistinct.

"Yes, Jack?" Phryne whispered.

"Be careful."

With that, Jack appeared to sink into sleep, his breath slowing as his body melted against Phryne. She remained still, careful not to move as she watched him. Then she turned her attention back to the article, her fingers still unconsciously playing with Jack's hair as she read.

Eventually, knowing she couldn't really put it off much longer, she carefully worked her arm out from behind Jack, settling him back down on the bed. He didn't wake, but shifted slightly in his sleep.

Every atom of her body was crying out for her to stay, but she had promised him. At least he was asleep, hopefully no longer tormented by his guilt. First thing tomorrow, she told herself, they would talk again.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and slipped out.

()

The next morning, Jack woke to the agreeable discovery that he had slept all through the night. Hunger griping at him, he dressed and went down to breakfast. It was Dot's day off, so Mr Butler was alone in the kitchen. He greeted Jack cheerfully and gestured that he should sit down at the table.

"Porridge, Sir?"

"Please. Did Miss Fisher get in alright?" asked Jack, helping himself to coffee.

"I believe so, Sir. It was a late night, I think she'll sleep in this morning."

Jack nodded. He hoped Phryne had accomplished what she wanted to. He had every belief that she would have done.

"How are you feeling this morning, Sir?"

Jack looked up. Clearly his exit from the gathering yesterday had not gone completely unnoticed.

"Fine, thank you." He immediately regretted the lie. He had sworn to stop pretending he was fine when he wasn't, and he could tell from the butler's face that he didn't believe him. After all, the two of them had struck up a friendship of sorts over the last few weeks, with Jack trying to make himself useful by helping the older man out in the garden or with household projects.

"Well, not fine, necessarily," he amended. "But getting there. Hopefully." _And even that was a lie_ , he thought. The getting there part, at least.

"I'm sure these things take time," Mr Butler said, carefully.

"But how much time?" Jack snapped, in a harsher tone that he had meant. "I'm sorry," he quickly added, replacing his coffee cup on the table. "I'm just… a little tired."

"That's quite alright."

"It's just that… Miss Fisher said…"

"Yes?"

"She said that I'm looking for… absolution." He said the word as if it was something foreign and untouchable.

Mr Butler cocked his head in sympathy, still working at the stove. "Miss Fisher is normally right about these things."

"I know." Jack wasn't sure why he was telling the older man all of this, other than it felt useful to lay his thoughts out, after a night reflecting on what Phryne had said. "But what if I never find it?"

"If you're looking for it from elsewhere, then you probably won't," Mr Butler replied honestly. "But maybe what Miss Fisher meant is that the first step needs to come from you."

"I absolve myself?" Jack asked, disbelievingly. "Isn't that cheating?"

"It would be if it was easy. But it hasn't been easy for you, has it Sir?"

Jack said nothing, frowning.

"I know it's not my place, Sir…" Mr Butler said.

"No, go on."

"You've been so focussed on your responsibility to others. Offering your resignation, trying to make amends, trying to placate the public and the press. It might make others feel better, Sir, but how does it really help?"

"My resignation was what people wanted," Jack said softly.

"Pfff." Mr Butler dismissed this, a slight look of anger crossing his face. "They don't know what they want. All they've done is ensure that they've lost the best detective they had. And all because of panic and hysteria and people believing what they read in the newspapers."

Jack reddened slightly. "So, your advice would be?"

"Forget about them. Miss Fisher's right, _you_ need to forgive yourself. So just do whatever it is that would square you with what happened, and don't worry about anyone else."

"But I don't know what that is, that's the point." He was irritated and slightly bemused by Mr Butler's words. Did he think it was that easy? Did he think he could just do… something that would wipe his conscious clean?

But then something did come into his head, something he'd been wanting to do ever since the end of the case.

He'd never allowed himself to do it. But now…

Mr Butler, eyeing Jack, was looking triumphant. "I'm sure you'll think of something, Sir."

Jack stood up, his eyes already somewhere far away. "Mr Butler, can you tell Miss Fisher I've gone out, please? When she gets up?"

"Of course, Sir. After you've had your breakfast."

Jack looked down in surprise at the steaming bowl of porridge that had appeared in front of him.

He sat down obediently.

"Thank you, Mr Butler."

"That's quite all right, Sir."


	20. Chapter 20

Previously: Jack opened up to Phryne and got some words of wisdom from Mr Butler. Phryne began her investigations.

 **Chapter 20**

Phryne awoke with the triumph that comes with a job well done, tempered by not a little guilt.

On the one hand, her evening at The 606 couldn't have gone better. She had managed to catch the eye of Mr Andrew Berridge straight away and played her cards so well that the suave, debonair gent was convinced for most of the evening that she hadn't even noticed him.

When he finally managed to get close enough to introduce himself ("Call me Drew") she was not entirely surprised to make the acquaintance of a thoroughly vain and vapid man. Several drinks and a few cringe worthy dances later, she had managed to pry herself away, certain that "Drew" was keen for further interaction in the not too distant future.

So much for laying the groundwork on her case, but what about Jack?

She had felt considerable guilt over leaving him the night before, and her thoughts were never far away from his sleeping form. When she arrived home in the early hours of the morning, she looked into his room. He was sleeping peacefully, and she resisted the temptation to wake him, knowing it was more for her benefit than hers.

Today, she was determined not to let him sink back into his pretence of getting back to normal. He had shared more with her yesterday than he ever had done before, and she didn't want to lose that connection.

With a half-formed idea of getting him out of the house for a walk along the foreshore, she padded downstairs in her robe, seeking him out. The house was quiet, apart from Mr Butler methodically shelling some peas in the kitchen.

"Good afternoon, Miss."

She looked at the clock. He was right. It was just after midday.

"Hello, Mr Butler."

"I trust you had a successful evening?"

"Very successful, thank you. Is Jack around?"

"He's gone out, Miss."

"Out?" She looked stunned. Jack hadn't gone out on his own since his ill-advised pub crawl. "Where?"

"He didn't say, Miss."

"Oh, no," Phryne whispered, panic rising. After his reaction last night, who knew what state he was in now? "Where are Bert and Cec?" She went to the back door as if she expected to see the two cabbies coming up the path. "They should go and look for him."

"Miss," Mr Butler said, soothingly. "If you'll forgive me…"

"Yes?" she said, turning to him desperately.

"I got the impression there was just something he had to do."

Phryne sat down, unsure. She wanted to trust Mr Butler's calm gaze, but her throat was tight with worry.

Where had he gone?

()

This one was different.

Less salubrious, less obviously moneyed than the one containing the Fisher family plot.

But a graveyard all the same.

He focussed on his feet as he tread the path, somehow familiar, although he had never actually visited. He'd wanted to. Maybe he had done in his dreams, maybe that was why he knew the way without really looking up. If he was fanciful, he might have imagined a pull of magnetism that drew him toward it. But he wasn't fanciful. So what did he think was going to come of this?

He ignored his doubts. Somewhere in this graveyard, Celia was buried too. He knew that, and he would visit them both. But it was Lucy who haunted him. It was Lucy he dreamed of searching for every night, knowing that he would fail. Not just fail her, but the family who were relying on him to bring their little girl home.

Her family, of course, were the reason he had never visited before. He was the last person they wanted to see. It would have been an insult to them, to their daughter's memory. But if Phryne and Mr Butler were right, and this absolution he was seeking had to come from him, how could he not come here, and rest his eyes on the gravestone of the child he'd let down all those months ago? If he couldn't do that, if he couldn't even be there, what hope did he have of ever seeing eye to eye with his conscience?

Or maybe that was all nonsense and he was simply this self-punishing, he thought ruefully. Because even now, he wasn't even really that sure what he was doing here, other than that it was the first thing that had leapt into his mind when Mr Butler had advised him to do whatever he needed, without regard for anyone else.

And there were worse reasons for doing something, he supposed, than because Mr Butler advised it.

He sensed it before he saw it (no, of course he didn't, because he _wasn't_ that fanciful). A small headstone with new lettering picked carefully out:

 _In Cherished Memory_

 _Lucy Cosgrove_

 _Died 5_ _th_ _June 1929, aged six_

 _Taken too soon_

His feet came to a halt.

There was no hesitation now, no waiting for an emotion that would never come. There was no such relief. The image of her small, broken body beneath the ground flooded his mind and he felt a sudden wave of overwhelming nausea. It was everything; guilt, shame, hopelessness, all distilled into one sickening sensation. And it was going to be too much, he knew it.

 _I'm sorry_ , he thought, his jaw clenching in pain.

 _I'm so, so, sorry._

It was too hot. The sun beat down fiercely on his head, and he hated it, hated all the sunny days she would never see. It was such unfeeling weather. Surely it should have rained every day since she died, just like it did on the day of the inquiry, a miserable expression of the pain humanity had the power to inflict on itself.

He remembered seeing the graves of soldiers in France, hastily buried under messy clumps of ground. He had tried to save some of those men too; and failed, he supposed. But this grave was somehow the worse for its careful and loving arrangement. Its very neatness highlighted the incongruity of it, how it should never have come to be here.

How could a child die like that? Not in the mess and blood and horror of war, but plucked from her peace time, idyllic existence. How could one human being do that to another? How could a human being _enjoy_ it?

He'd spent most of his adult life serving the law, in part, he supposed to make some sort of sense of the wrongs people could inflict on each other. That seemed important, after the war, to make sense of things like that so that such large scale wrongs could never happen again. But he couldn't make sense of this.

If he had done, maybe he would have found her.

 _Is this what absolution feels like?_ The thought was almost incidental, nearly lost in his whirling mind. _A wholesale admission that I was never up to the task? It that what I have to do?_

It felt like surrendering. But somehow, it also felt like all he was capable of.

At last, because something had to give, he felt tears start to roll down his cheeks, and his knees begin to buckle.

"Inspector Robinson?"

He staggered. Reeled. Somehow managed to stay upright. He turned, facing with horror a woman he hadn't noticed coming.

"… Mrs Cosgrove."

She stood stock still, her hands folded in front of her. Her brown wispy hair was tucked demurely into her hat. Her face was expressionless; red rimmed eyes the only indication that she was experiencing any emotion at all. Her quiet and reserved appearance felt wildly at odds with his own discombobulation.

He was immediately overcome with shame and remorse. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be here.

"I – I'm sorry," he stammered. "I shouldn't… I shouldn't have come."

She regarded him with uninterested eyes, moving forward so she stood directly in front of the grave. She bowed her head, eyes shutting briefly. Jack stepped back, horribly aware that he was witnessing an acutely private moment.

Panic rose in his throat and he took a further step backwards, thinking to remove himself as soon as possible. He had just turned, inwardly chastising himself, when she stopped him.

"Inspector?" Her voice was quiet, almost difficult to hear.

He looked back at her, unable to speak.

She looked back at the headstone, then at him again. When she spoke, Jack was amazed at how calm her voice had become. It was though she was drawing strength from her daughter's presence.

"I wanted to tell you that we're not challenging the inquiry."

For a moment, Jack couldn't remember what she was talking about. Then he remembered the article.

"Oh," he said stupidly. He swallowed. "… Why?"

She looked surprised at his question, and shook her head. "My husband and I… we realised it wasn't really fair."

Jack gulped, still struggling to process what was happening. "It… no… you should do whatever you feel is right."

For the first time, she looked angry. "Nothing about this is right, Inspector."

He was horrified at himself. "Of course… no."

"Us and the Brettons," she said, her voice shaking slightly now. "What we have been through, it's never right. To lose a child, it's never right."

Jack nodded. Of course it wasn't. He could never imagine what they had been through.

"But I know…" she bit her lip, struggling over words that were obviously hard for her to say. "I know it wasn't your fault."

Jack took another step back, this one to regain his balance. He was stunned. His mouth formed a "wh…" shape, but no sound came out.

"I heard about your resignation," she said, eyes fixed on the ground. "And that didn't seem right either. Not after you worked so hard. I know we blamed you at first. But it was just our anger, we didn't know what to do and who to blame, and we just…" her voice tailed off.

Jack could only shake his head numbly.

"We know you did everything you could," she continued. "That monster, everything just went right for him."

He nodded now, discovering an awful and selfish relief in finding someone who understood. She was right, that was what it had felt like. Everything had been in his favour.

"But I decided, Inspector, that we should stop doing things his way. He would love us to fall apart now, I'm sure of it. But we have two other children we have to be there for. We're still a family. He's tried his best to ruin that. And he took my Lucy. But I won't let him take anything else from me. And you shouldn't let him either, Inspector. He's took your job…" she looked at him closely. "What else has he got away from you?"

Jack remained speechless.

She nodded knowingly. "Too much. I know I didn't help either. But I wasn't feeling right about that. And maybe seeing you here today," she shrugged. "Well. Maybe it was meant to be."

She gave him a last look and went to walk past him.

He found his voice at last. "Mrs Cosgrove…"

She stopped beside him, but kept her eyes straight ahead. "I wish things had gone differently, Inspector. And I don't think we'll ever be exchanging Christmas presents, you know? But for God's sake, don't let that man get what he wants."

He nodded silently, watching her walk off. He had never felt so in awe of anyone; not the most hardened war veterans, although in a sense that's exactly what she was. She turned down a path, her shoulders held back defiantly, and as she disappeared he found to his horror that in stark contrast to her, he was trembling all over.

He gasped in a breath, then another one as he realised his lungs had been empty. He felt suddenly light headed, and groped his way to a bench on the side of the path. He bowed his head, feeling the blood pounding in his temples.

 _Oh God._

He felt a desperate urge to cry, and then just as suddenly, to laugh. He'd never found it so difficult to identify a feeling in his life. He didn't know what to do with his body; sit, stand, run, walk, dance? Collapse seemed to be the most likely option right now. He leaned against the back of the bench, almost panting with the exertion of trying not to explode.

 _"We know you did everything you could."_

The tears were coming now, and there was no way of stopping them. He cried for Lucy and Celia, for their families, for everyone who had been touched by two unspeakable acts of evil.

But he also cried for himself. She had been right. He had come so close, so dangerously close, to letting Alfred Devlin win. All those times when he shut himself away, drank himself into a stupor, lost control, he had never considered that he was doing exactly what that creature wanted. He was continuing his work for him, destroying his own life and those of the people around him.

But it had to stop. He didn't feel like surrendering anymore. Somehow, the realisation that he was wilfully fitting in with Devlin's plans had lit a fire under him that he thought had long since died out. He wanted to fight back. If Lucy's mother could find the courage, goddammit, so could he.

This wasn't the end of the story, he knew. It wasn't all going to disappear, just like that. But there was something about identifying the enemy, he thought. To know what you're fighting against. All of a sudden, you could make sense of it. You could remember the good things you were fighting for. For Mrs Cosgrove, it was her children.

For Jack… An image of Phryne swam, unbidden but welcome, into his mind.

What was it she had said to him last night?

 _"Come back."_

He stood, put on his hat, and walked slowly away.


	21. Chapter 21

Previously: Jack visited Lucy's grave and met her mother, who let him see things a little differently.

 **Chapter 21**

Phryne had had many days, particularly over the last few weeks, where she thanked her lucky stars for the presence of Mr Butler in her life. Today was one of those days.

She had promised Dot and Hugh a party and she should have been attending to preparations. But she could barely drag herself from the window or the street. She was frantic with worry.

Mr Butler knew full well who she was looking for, and couldn't resist offering her some words of comfort.

"He wasn't upset when he left, Miss."

"What was he then?" she had asked irritably. She hated being kept in the dark about anything, let alone Jack. But after all, he hadn't told Mr Butler where he was going, and it wasn't his place to guess.

"He was… I would describe him as determined, Miss."

She shot him a look. "He was _determined_ when he handed in his resignation, Mr B!"

Mr Butler gave up on the words of comfort, and returned to the more confident arena of food preparation. But Phryne had been grateful all the same, not just for his attempts at calming her fears, but the effort he had put into tonight, looking out the best glasses and chinaware and creating hors d'oeuvres of unparalleled delicacy.

Dot and Hugh arrived in their best clothes and Mac, Cec and Bert not long after. Phryne tried to concentrate on the happy occasion, acting the generous hostess as much as she could. But it was impossible to forget that Jack had been gone all day. She was on the point of pulling one of the cabbies aside and asking them to go and search for him discreetly, when she heard the front door.

She slipped out of the parlour eagerly, only to be greeted with the sight of Mr Butler divesting her Aunt Prudence of a voluminous satin coat.

"Oh," she said, her disappointment clearly evident.

"My dear!" Prudence looked violently offended. "I've had better welcomes, I must say."

Mr Butler removed himself discreetly, leaving Prudence looking at her niece with concern.

"I'm sorry," Phryne said. "I thought you might be Jack."

"Why? Where is he?" her Aunt asked quickly.

"I don't know," admitted Phryne. "He's been gone all day."

Prudence looked worried now too. "I thought you said he seemed better?"

"He did! But then he had a setback yesterday when Hugh and Dot told us their news. And he was up and out before I saw him today!"

Prudence frowned. "Why did the Collins' announcement cause him a setback? Such happy news!"

"That's the point," Phryne said quietly. "He… he said he couldn't feel happy."

"Oh dear," said Prudence gently, after a small pause. "Well, that doesn't sound good at all."

Her admission made Phryne's heart beat faster, and she nodded, fiddling nervously with her necklace. "I know."

The parlour door opened and they looked round to see Mac slip out, also closing the door behind her.

"Is there a party out here too?"

"Jack's missing," Phryne told her.

Mac's face grew stony. "I wondered where he was."

"I'm sure we all do," said Prudence.

Phryne answered her friend. "Mr Butler said he said he had to go somewhere… or do something, I'm not sure."

"But that's good," Mac reassured Phryne. "He didn't just storm off. He spoke to Mr Butler."

"But where is he? Why has he been gone so long?"

"Was Mr Butler worried?" interrogated Mac.

"I don't think so."

Mac smiled. "Then what is there to worry about?"

"Oh, it's not as simple as that, Mac! Anything could have happened!" Phryne cried.

"That man knows what he's talking about, Phryne!" Mac insisted. "If he's not worried, it's not time to worry yet. Just give Jack time, if he has to do something, let him do it. And in the meantime, come and have another drink. There's a gorgeous young couple in here sorely in need of toasting."

She beckoned Phryne through to the parlour, and Prudence followed her with an encouraging hand at her back. "I'm sure Dr. Macmillan is right, Phryne."

Phryne looked uncertain but let her Aunt propel her into the room.

"Anyway," Prudence was saying. "I have other news that may cheer you up."

Phryne accepted a drink from Mr Butler's tray. "What?"

"I hear from Lady Matlin that the Globe may soon print an apology for their coverage of the Cosgrove case, with particular reference to their treatment of the police."

Phryne couldn't help but flash a congratulatory look. "Well done, Aunt P."

"Oh it wasn't entirely my doing," Prudence said, though an expression of triumph was indeed evident on her face. "I hear Mr Harper also received a very strongly worded letter from, amongst others, the Honourable Phryne Fisher. So you see, my dear. It was a joint effort."

"Well, that's something," Phryne said, but her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"What is it, Phryne? Have I said something wrong?"

"No, of course not. I'm just worried we've been focussing our efforts in the wrong direction."

"What do you mean?"

"Trying to convince Melbourne of Jack's innocence. Maybe we would have been better off making sure we had convinced Jack."

The two women shared a worried look. Prudence put a discreet hand on her niece's shoulder, sending a smile over to Dot as she did so.

"He'll be back, Phryne," she murmured. "You'll see."

()

Later, the noise had risen to such a level she didn't hear the front door.

She sat on the chaise, still close to Prudence, observing rather than joining in with the general revelry that was surrounding Dot and Hugh. Bert and Cec had had rather a lot to drink and were singing to Dot's belly. This was very much to Mac's amusement, and she egged them on shamelessly.

Phryne wore an indulgent smile on her face as she watched them. But her attention was clearly half on the parlour door, as her head snapped round when it opened just a crack.

"Jack!"

The room went quiet.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, somewhat awkwardly, but she was mildly surprised that he acknowledged the rest of them at all. His face was so flushed that she was sure something must be wrong.

"Phryne, can I…?" He gestured to the hall with his head, but she was already on her feet and going to him.

They stepped outside and Jack shut the parlour door gently behind them. When he turned to look at her, his eyes were startlingly bright. His whole body seemed to be shaking with a sort of nervous energy.

"Jack… where have you been?"

He swallowed drily, hardly knowing how to explain.

She felt her anxiety grow. "Oh God, Jack. What's happened?"

"Phryne…" she watched, horrified, as he ran a trembling hand through his hair, dishevelling it completely. "I don't where to begin, I…"

She grasped his hands in hers, more to still them than anything. What could have happened? The possibilities raced through her head. Had he had an altercation with someone? A fight? And then the most terrifying thought; that this really was it, he'd completely broken down…

He met her eyes. "I went to her grave."

"You went to…." Phryne frowned. "Janey's grave?"

"No. Not Janey's. Lucy's."

"Oh…" her heart plummeted. She could only guess how that would have affected him.

He continued. "Phryne, her mother was there."

She had to bite back a gasp, realising that it was worse that she could have imagined. "What happened?" she breathed.

Jack's head bowed and she could sense he was trying to pull himself together. She had never seen him like this, so tightly wound. It was like he was going to explode at any moment.

"She was… she was incredible."

"What?" Phryne whispered, unable to believe her ears. But when Jack's eyes came back up to meet hers, there was something in them she hadn't seen for months. Hope? She instinctively held his hands tighter. "What did she say?"

"She said…" Jack seemed to be double checking his recollection, making sure he hadn't dreamt it or made it up. "She said… it wasn't my fault."

Phryne let out a noise. It might have been a laugh or a sob.

"She said I did everything I could." Jack shook his head, seemingly still in disbelief. His eyes were distinctly wet and she was sure hers were too.

"Oh, Jack…" She let go of his hands and put her hands on his chest, his shoulders – there was no particular intent, she just wanted to make sure that he was real, that this person saying these words wasn't a mirage.

"Do you believe her?" she whispered desperately. "Please, Jack. Please say you believe her?"

His hands came up to encircle her wrists. "It's difficult, Phryne. After all this time…"

"I know, Jack, but…" she heard the pleading note in her voice, but his hands tightened on her wrists and she fell silent.

"These last few months," he said, looking down at her hands. "I thought I had to just accept that guilt. I thought I deserved to punish myself. But now," he shook his head. "I think maybe just lying back and accepting it was an easy way out. It's harder, much harder, to stand up for yourself and fight back. But that's what she's done. She said Devlin had tried to destroy her family. But she still has two children and she won't let him do that. She won't let him win. Can you imagine that?" he asked, reverently. "That strength?"

Phryne shook her head, just as much in awe as he was.

"So, yes," he said, finally looking her in the eyes. "She asked me not to let him win either. And so, I have to, I have to believe her." The muscles his jaw tightened and released rapidly. "I did…" his voice caught. "…everything I could."

It had all the power of confession. And the relief drew the breath from Phryne's lungs completely. Unable to speak, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried herself in his collar. He responded immediately, his arms going around her waist and drawing him tightly to him.

They stood like that for a long time, shifting every so often when one of them lost balance, tightening their grip whenever possible. When they eventually parted, there were tears on both their faces and Phryne was overjoyed to see the beginnings of a smile on his face.

Her own smile was dazzling, splitting her face in two. She couldn't help laughing.

"What is it?" he asked, his own smile widening.

She put her hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry," she said, giving a last giggle. "It's a nervous reaction, I suppose. I don't know what to do with myself."

"I know," Jack nodded in understanding. "I've just been wandering the streets, I think. I hardly know. It feels like I'm in a dream, and I've just woken up from one."

She nodded, biting her lip to keep from smiling too inappropriately.

He put his hand down to tuck her hair behind her ear. "It's not a magic bullet, I know that," he said, his expression slightly more sombre. "It won't just go away, just like that." He sounded like he was warning her, as well as reminding himself.

"I know," she reassured him. "I just…" she shook her head wonderingly. "I just can't help but think… it's a turning point, you know?"

He nodded, looking down at her affectionately. "I do."

Her hands were resting on his lapels, and she tugged them gently. "Come and say hello? Everyone is dying to see you."

"Uh…" he looked at the parlour door with a little trepidation. She understood: it had been an overwhelming day. "Maybe in a while. I might just go and clean up, and…"

"Of course." She nodded.

"You go back in. They'll be missing you."

"Alright," she said, still smiling at him. Reluctantly, she let go of his lapels.

He took a step back from her, finding it surprisingly difficult to draw his eyes away from her smile. Climbing the stairs, he found the steps light and free of effort. She watched him go, and only turned to go back to the parlour when he turned the corner at the landing. She took a moment to herself, breathing deeply and savouring the moment. He was back. He was coming back. He might not be fully here yet, she understood that. But he was coming back.

In the meantime, she had been neglecting Dot, and she intended to make it up to her. She was just about to open the door to the parlour when there was a tap on the front door. She rolled her eyes.

She would see who this was, and then she would focus all her attention (alright, some of it had already climbed the stairs) on Dot, Hugh and their family to be.


	22. Chapter 22

Notes: So, it finally looks like we are circling for a landing! According to the plan - I know, who knew there was a plan, right? I've surprised myself - this looks to be chapter 22 of 25. Don't quote me, but that's how it's looking. Thanks again for all your follows/reviews so far. I'm so touched and inspired by your comments, they really make my day :)

Right. Let's see if I can sort these two crazy kids out in 4 more chapters...

Previously: Phryne worried about Jack, but he came back from the graveyard with some good news. Could this be a turning point?

 **Chapter 22**

Back in his bedroom, Jack sat on the edge of his bed and looked at his knees. He breathed deeply, trying to gather his thoughts.

His breath came much easier now than at the graveyard, and downstairs. His mind was calmer than it had been – for months, really. It felt a lot like coming out of the other side of something dark and dreadful, and yet he couldn't let himself get too excited about it. There probably would be more dark days ahead, he wanted to prepare himself for that. What had changed, after all? The case had still gone wrong, there were still two victims and two families without a daughter.

The all too familiar feeling of guilt tugged at the periphery of his mind but he pushed it away resolutely. There may be times he would dwell on it again, he acquiesced. There might be the odd nightmare. But it was not going to be a constant for him anymore. He would no longer allow it to overtake everything else, to live it, and let his waking body become nothing more than a host for it. He caught his breath as he realised gratefully that Lucy's mother's lesson had sunk in. Of course it had. The only way he could relinquish the shame of his failed responsibility was to accept a new one, from the only woman who could bestow on him such a task: don't let Devlin win. His first responsibility had owed much to luck, or the lack of it, and to being in the right place at the right time. This second one was purely down to him. He would not fail her again. And he would not fail himself.

Blowing out a long breath, he lay back against the soft covers and shut his eyes. It was such a relief to make a decision, to take control. He finally felt something like himself. Phryne was right. It was a turning point.

His eyes still closed, he smiled softly as he recalled her nervous laughter, and her inability to keep what she obviously felt was an inappropriate level of happiness from her face. Her joyous relief was equal to his; in many ways she expressed what he could not. She had suffered with him, after all. Not including those dark months where she could have had no way of knowing; from the moment she arrived back in Australia she had fought for him. First of all, against him and his own reluctance to let her help, and then (once she had plucked him, frozen and soaked from that cemetery bench) on his behalf. His champion, his rock, his shield; but one that had felt every inch of what he was going through, who hurt and rejoiced alongside him.

At the time, he had felt pathetic, and part of him (he could admit this now) had resented being so dependent on her when their relationship had been one of complete equals. But he could see now what equality really meant; it wasn't a steady status quo, it was taking turns to support each other, making oneself stronger when needed, and accepting help without vanity or pride.

It was a partnership.

Before today, it had been terrifying to consider their future, to plan for his own happiness. Of course, rogue thoughts of their relationship had drifted across his conscious mind from time to time. He'd let them float away, lacking the energy it would take to grab them and consider them properly. But he'd always assumed that if he did, the only possible result would be to find himself in a weaker position that he had been all those months ago when she flew away. How could he not be damaged in her eyes, when she had seen him so low?

But lots of things were different today. Maybe it was time to gather up all of those rogue thoughts and reconsider. When you thought of it as a partnership, he realised, weak or not didn't come into it. Did he think any less of Phryne because he'd supported her through Foyle and finding Janey? Of course not. On the contrary, he thought it had brought them closer together.

Was it possible that their relationship would be stronger now, rather than weaker? It was a tempting theory. Could he back it up?

 _The tender care in her touch as she undressed and bathed him._

 _The heartbroken look on her face when he showed her the ticket to England._

 _The soft press of her lips to his forehead when she thought he was asleep on the chaise._

 _The unbridled desire in her kiss the night they shared a bed._

 _The tears of joy in her eyes as he told her about Mrs Cosgrove._

He could have continued, but a thought struck him and he huffed out a laugh, rolling onto his side. He had just realised what he was doing.

He was listing the evidence.

 _Ever the detective_ , he thought ruefully. He was lucky Phryne couldn't see this.

But it was hard to leave those habits behind; hard too, to abandon roles that had been so engrained. He had been one for order and method in his work - weigh up the evidence and draw conclusions to fit. Phryne worked more from her gut. She had amazing instincts as a detective, he'd had to admit that from the very beginning. She would have a feeling about a case, and more often than not it turned out to be right on the money.

Just for fun, and because he _wasn't_ a detective any more, he tried doing things her way. What was his gut feeling? What was his instinct about Phryne?

It seemed an odd question to be pressing on himself, after so long trying desperately not to have any instincts about her at all.

But his gut couldn't lie, he supposed. And that was the one thing that had never changed, in these few months when everything else had been turned upside down. Gut feeling: he loved her. Before, during, now… and he knew, for as long he drew breath.

Instincts? That was a little harder. A little more terrifying too; the thought of jeopardising everything they had in the pursuit of… well, everything he had ever wanted, that was the long and short of it.

But instinct had driven him to the graveyard that morning. And that had worked out well. There was no plan there, no ridiculous and idiotic list of tasks, just a magnetic, almost fateful pull that terrified him at the time, but in the end, gave him what he needed.

Maybe, he thought, instincts weren't so bad an approach at all.

()

After a quick wash and a change of clothes, Jack descended the staircase at Wardlow. He planned to go into the parlour, where he assumed Phryne and the others would be carrying on the celebration.

He had not come down armed with any dramatic declarations. For one thing, this wasn't the time. Tonight was for Dot and Hugh, and he had already spoilt their celebration yesterday. (Was it only yesterday? It felt much longer ago). For another thing, he felt overwrought and nervy, a consequence, no doubt, of the turmoil of the day. He wanted to relax, to enjoy again the company of his friends and to tell Hugh and Dot, properly this time, how happy he was for them.

But as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw to his surprise that the front door was slightly open. He frowned and went to it, straining his eyes to see if someone had gone outside. Had he left it open himself when he came in? He couldn't remember.

He couldn't see anything in the darkness, and he was just about to pull the door shut when he heard a tinkle of laughter. He looked towards the street and under a dim lamp he could just see two figures standing together. The glint of a silver headpiece confirmed it was Phryne. He was about to call to her when he heard a masculine growl of laughter, and his heart froze in his chest. Who was she with?

Jack took a step closer. The man was tall, and stood very close to Phryne, his hand gripping her arm. The lamp illuminated her face, upturned in laughter towards him, and his good looking but slightly wolfish features angled towards her possessively. There was something about his manner that Jack didn't like, not only the fact that he seemed to be far too intimate with her (though he certainly did _not_ like that) but something almost predatory in his body language, in that animalistic smile that he aimed at her. Whatever it was, Jack noticed with a jolt that Phryne didn't seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, she let out another burst of laughter, then leant even closer to him, whispering something next to his ear.

Jack felt a searing sensation in his limbs, a desperate urge to run up to them and throw this upstart bodily down the street. But it was all too obvious that Phryne would not appreciate the gesture, and his whole body sagged with the realisation of it. He tried to compensate with a bout of righteous anger at her: who was this man? Where had she met him? But of course the easy answer was that he could be anyone, she could have met him anywhere. Her social life had slowed down over the last few weeks, but it hadn't stopped completely. In fact, hadn't he encouraged her to go out, refused when she suggested he go with her? The more complete answer to the question was that regardless of who this man was, or where she had met him, it was none of his business.

He'd had his chance. He had told her he couldn't give her what she wanted.

He had told her not to wait for him.

He had left it too late.

He saw the man's head dip toward her, and feeling sick to his stomach, realised he couldn't tolerate much more self-punishment today. His eyes snapped shut, and bowing his head, he slipped back inside the house, leaving the door slightly ajar.

He stood for a few moments, listening to the music and laughter coming from inside the parlour. He knew he should just put it out of his mind, be grateful for all she had done for him in friendship, and move on. He should go into the party. He should be nice.

But he already knew he couldn't do it. He felt like a sudden imposter, in this place where he had felt so at home. Really, there was no reason for him to be here anymore. He needed to get to his room, to think.

He walked quickly back to the staircase, determined to disappear upstairs before anyone saw him.

"Mr Robinson?"

Damn. Jack turned halfway up, seeing Mr Butler looking inquiringly up at him, a fresh tray of drinks balanced on one hand.

He had wanted to get away without any interaction, but actually maybe it was preferable to do it this way. Mustering all his self-control, Jack forced a smile onto his face.

"Mr Butler."

"You're not coming down to the party, Sir?" Mr Butler was seemingly oblivious to the slightly open door behind him.

"Ah, no," Jack said quickly. "Would you… would you make my apologies, please? I did mean to look in, but I'm afraid I'm quite exhausted. Could you tell Miss Fisher I've gone to bed?"

"Of course, Sir." A look of concern crossed the older man's face. "I hope, Sir, that I wasn't too forward in my advice this morning?"

"No, of course not," suddenly Jack remembered with a pang of guilt that he had a lot to thank Mr Butler for. He stepped back down one stair. "In fact, I… I should thank you, Mr Butler. You were…" he smiled. "Very helpful."

Mr Butler smiled back. "Did you get the answers you were looking for?"

Jack's eyes flickered to the front door and his expression hardened slightly. "I think so."


	23. Chapter 23

Previously: Jack decided he was ready to pursue his relationship with Phryne, but was shocked to see her enjoying a private moment with a tall, dark stranger...

 **Chapter 23**

It didn't take long to pack. He didn't have that much here. He supposed his social calendar hadn't exactly been full enough to merit a whole wardrobe full of outfits. He rolled his eyes, pausing in his activities. Maybe it should have been. Maybe if he'd made more of an effort…

But then, how could he? He had been in no fit state to step out of the house most days, let alone compete with tall dark strangers down some jazz club.

Why couldn't she just have waited for him? A fit of anger seized him, and he threw a last jumper into his valise maliciously.

 _Because you told her not to,_ his own brain snapped at him vindictively.

The same thoughts had been torturing him all night. Eventually, he had given up on sleep at five o'clock in the morning. No matter how you sliced it, he was the author of his own misfortunes.

 _As you always were_ , the voice tortured. But he silenced it firmly. He was not going to go back into that mind-set now. The case and Phryne were not related. He could not, he would not, let this turn into a setback. He'd come too far.

The best thing to do, the healthiest thing, was to remove himself from this situation. Phryne was taking cases, she was going out, and now, she was seeing men again. She was back to normal. Fine, so was he. Getting there anyway. So there was no reason for him to be here. If only he'd gone before, he could have remained ignorant of this whole thing. The timing had been unfair, he thought resentfully. He would barely have had time to pack and leave after his 'turning point' revelation without bumping into Phryne and the stranger canoodling in the street.

But probably, he thought, it had been going on for longer than that. She had been keeping it from him, desperate not to upset him when he was so fragile. The thought didn't cheer him, but he supposed he should be grateful for the fact that she'd kept him outside rather than parade him in the house. He didn't know how he would have felt if he had strolled into the parlour only to find them sitting together on the chaise, the stranger already firmly engrained into the family he had begun to think of as his too.

He knew he was probably allowing his jealous mind to run away with him. But either way, he was doing the right thing by leaving. It wouldn't be good for him to stay around to watch this develop, to get rid of one dark obsession only to immediately replace it with another.

It wasn't her fault, he had to keep telling himself that. She didn't owe him anything. The only real advance he'd made was to kiss her, and even that he had immediately apologised for.

No, this was his fault. He'd missed his chance. The only avenue open to him now was self-preservation.

He snapped the case shut and looked around the room, checking that he hadn't missed anything. Also, he realised with embarrassment, saying goodbye. He doubted he was going to look back on his time here as one of the happiest episodes in his life. But he had felt… safe? Comforted? It was the place where the first roots of his recovery had taken hold. Whatever happened, he was always going to be grateful to her for what she had done for him. He remembered her care, her attention with a pang. Maybe he was being unfair, storming out of the house before anyone was awake.

He sat down at the desk, and pulled out some writing paper from the drawer. He wrote, haltingly, for about five minutes, then put the page in an envelope and addressed it to her. He nodded. Done.

He picked up the valise, looked around one last time, and left.

Downstairs, he propped the envelope up against the telephone. He opened the door carefully, slid out, and pulled it shut gently.

On the other side, he gave a deep sigh. The sun was barely up. He walked down the path, and down the street.

Time to go home.

()

Phryne dragged herself from sleep with a certain reluctance. By instructing Mr Butler that she didn't want a hangover, she had ensured a certain strictness in her measures, and as the night wore on, downright refusal to allow her to mix her drinks. She smiled, proud of her forethought, and of Mr Butler's tenacity under pressure.

The party had gone on till late, so she was tired, but not unduly the worse for wear. Dot and Hugh had left quite early, but Mac, Cec and Bert were in a celebratory mood, and so was Phryne. Even Aunt Prudence hung around until a surprisingly late hour, allowing Bert to tell her jokes that Phryne was sure she would have disallowed any earlier.

They had thrown the Collins a good celebration, she thought. There were only two interruptions; one welcome, one not so.

The second one had been announced with a tap on the door, which, if she had been in the parlour, she was sure nobody would have heard. She had been astounded when she opened the door to reveal Andrew "call me Drew" Berridge. It took her a few seconds to remember that he had dropped her off at home the night before; obviously then, he knew where she lived, and had been disappointed not to find her at The 606 on the subsequent evening.

Drew Berridge, she quickly realised, was not a man who dealt with disappointment well.

She had pulled the door shut behind her, determined to put a physical barrier between her undercover-but-not-really casework and her extended family, and walked him down the path. Her first thought had been to get rid of him as soon as humanely possible and return to the party. But very soon, she realised Mr Berridge Jnr. was in a mood to talk. She couldn't resist the opportunity to do a little detecting.

She had upped the ante with her flirting, laughing coquettishly at his bad jokes and implying, (falsely, on many counts) that she preferred to spend her time with men of a certain wealth, who could keep up with an extravagant lifestyle and her luxurious tastes. Drew seemed keen to persuade her he fitted the bill, boasting of his newly inherited wealth and, unattractively, drawing comparisons between his situation and the relative poverty of his brother. He was deeply jealous of him, she realised, despite his superficial good looks and confident bearing. She wondered how old he had been when he realised Anthony was by far the better man. Was that the motive for falsifying the will?

Covering her disgust, she had leaned in closer and whispered the name of an expensive restaurant. "This Friday," she murmured seductively.

He'd looked down at her though heavy lidded eyes. "Till then, Miss Fisher." He leaned down towards her, going in for a kiss, but she'd managed to stop him with a finger to his lips, a move she hoped he interpreted as teasing.

His growl seemed to affirm it, and she pulled away from him. "Till then," she replied throatily.

He had managed to catch her hand and pull her back for a few more minutes of uncomfortable conversation, but eventually she was able to extricate herself from him and sashay her way up the path to the front door.

She'd managed to conceal a shudder until she was back inside the house, with the door firmly shut between them. She wasn't above seduction to get information out of someone, theoretically, but not with a man like Drew Berridge, and certainly not now that…

In her bedroom, still curled under the covers, Phryne smiled widely at the memory of Interruption No. 1: The Welcome One.

Jack.

Jack was going to be alright. He had looked so… she didn't know how to describe it. What does a man look like once he's let go of six months' worth of intense guilt? It seemed paltry to describe it as 'relief'. It was more like redemption. She had herself felt giddy with tentative joy, not knowing whether to laugh, cry, or embrace him. She seemed to remember, in a blur, that she had done all three.

At first, once she had returned to the parlour after getting rid of Berridge, she had been waiting eagerly for him to come back down. But eventually, Mr Butler caught her attention.

"Mr Robinson sends his apologies, Miss. He was rather tired and has gone straight to bed."

"Oh." At first, Phryne was disappointed. Their interaction earlier had lit a spark under her: she wanted to be constantly at his side. But then she reflected. He must be absolutely exhausted. No wonder. He'd probably gone upstairs and just collapsed.

"Never mind," she'd said smilingly. "I'll see him tomorrow. Small measures, Mr B! Tiny!"

"Yes, Miss."

She'd wanted to be fresh for him, to spend the whole day with him, revelling in his happiness. She knew it was much too soon to think of these things, but she couldn't help but feel, deep in her gut, that there was the promise of something more to come between them. That embrace last night, when he'd looked at her with such affection. She knew it wasn't to be rushed, but she just knew, instinctively, that one day in the not too distant future, Jack might finally want something more.

She smiled at herself, suddenly hearing Jack's voice in her head, a distant memory, or so it seemed.

 _"An interesting theory, Miss Fisher. But where's your evidence?"_

She buried her face into her pillow, searching her memory, enjoying the treasure hunt for clues.

 _His strong fingers working into her shoulders, his weight half on top of her._

 _The sincere look in his eyes when he confessed she was everything to him._

 _How his strong arms enveloped her when she worried about them drifting apart._

 _The conviction in his voice when he promised they never would._

 _Last night, in the hallway, the way his eyes couldn't leave her face._

She got out of bed, her steps across the room to fetch her robe much lighter than they usually would be of a morning. Tying it around her, she tripped lightly down the stairs and straight into the kitchen.

"Morning, Mr B!"

Mr Butler glanced with some surprise at the clock. It was only half past ten in the morning. An unheard of hour for his mistress following a party.

He was alone in the kitchen. "Jack not up yet?" Phryne asked, casually sitting down at the table and reaching for a tea cup.

"Er…" For once, Mr Butler looked lost for words.

Phryne looked up. "I thought he might sleep late," she said, mistaking Mr Butler's hesitance for ignorance of Jack's whereabouts. "He had a tiring day yesterday."

Her eyes were wide open in innocence and her voice was cheerful. Mr Butler felt a slight dread grip him as he readied himself to explain.

"I think he's gone, Miss."

"Gone where?" asked Phryne, unconcerned. She reached for the teapot.

"Gone."

Phryne stopped, the teapot frozen in mid-air. "What do you mean"?

"All his things are gone, Miss. And… I think I heard the door go at about six o'clock this morning."

Phryne replaced the teapot with a thud. "But…" she looked stunned. "Where has he gone?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. But there is a letter for you on the hall table. Perhaps that might clear things up."

Phryne rushed out into the hall. Sure enough, stood up against the telephone was an envelope she recognised as belonging to her own stationary, her own name emblazoned across the front.

She picked it up and ripped it open, refusing to think anything until she had devoured its contents.

The page was written over in an untidy but sober hand, as familiar to her as his voice.

 _Phryne,_

 _I hope I didn't wake you or Mr Butler by leaving at an early hour. I am not over fond of protracted goodbyes, and thought it best to spare us both any awkwardness._

 _I can never thank you enough for your care and kindness over the last few weeks. However, now that things seem to have turned a corner I think it's best for all concerned that I return home and let you get back to normal life without any fear of my intrusion._

 _Good luck with your case._

 _I hope you enjoyed the party._

 _Warm regards,_

 _Jack_

Phryne reeled, and set to reading it again, to make sure. _No_ , she shook her head. It was just as ridiculous the second time round!

How, after everything they had been through together, could he bring himself to be so hurtful?! Bad enough to slink out first thing in the morning without even saying goodbye! But that letter – what on earth did he mean by it? Where had this pious, over formal tone come from?

 _"Without fear of my intrusion"_ – when had she ever felt, or ever made _him_ feel that he was intruding? The word, the idea, had never even occurred to her! She was sure she hadn't done anything to make him take that attitude!

 _"Best for all concerned"_ – presumably he included himself in that? What, had she been deficient as a host in some way? Did she pose some danger to his recovery, to his wellbeing? She, who had only ever wanted the best for him, and tried to help! Even made sure she had stuck to his defined boundaries, never overstepping the mark, never acting on her feelings?

The whole thing hurt her beyond words. Even that _"I hope you enjoyed the party"_ seemed loaded, edged with meaning. But what really scared her was that line – _"Good luck with the case."_

As if he wouldn't see her again. As if he wouldn't be there to hear all about it.

Phryne blinked, her fingers tightening the page into a crumple. "But he promised," she whispered to herself.

Mr Butler was standing in the doorway to the dining room. "Is there anything I can do, Miss?"

Phryne's head had snapped up when she heard him, and she was already bounding back up the stairs.

"Bring around the Hispano, Mr Butler!"


	24. Chapter 24

Notes: Ok, so here we go!

I've decided to post the final two chapters tonight, mainly because they kind of go together but also because Chapter 24 was pretty much done yesterday and I held off on posting because... it's a little nerve-wracking, the ending! Everyone has been so amazing with their feedback and I hope it lives up to expectations! Of course you can never please everyone, so in the end I guess you have to just go with what feels right for the story... anyway, I really hope you enjoy these last two parts and now I will stop gabbling and let you read!

Previously: Jack left a 'Dear Phryne' letter and Phryne was unimpressed.

 **Chapter 24**

The bungalow seemed almost eerily quiet after the almost constant energetic bustle of Wardlow. It was the first thing he noticed, when he let himself into the house he had not set foot in for almost a month. How quiet it was.

The second thing. How clean it was. His memories of the last time he was here were hazy, but he was certain he hadn't left it like this. He knew his housekeeping had deteriorated when he had been suspended from work. He couldn't be bothered to lift a dishcloth, or sweep a floor. He'd left bins unemptied and nothing had been cleaned for weeks. He frowned now, picturing it. What a disgusting state he'd got into. But now, surfaces gleamed and steel sparkled. His wooden furniture was highly polished to levels Jack had never imagined, let alone been able to achieve himself. He could sense Mr Butler at the back of this. Which meant, of course, Phryne.

He dropped his case and walked into the kitchen, opening cupboard doors. They were fully stocked. Nothing perishable, since nobody had known when he would be coming back, but enough canned goods to keep him going for a couple of weeks.

He felt his heart twist around in his chest as he wandered around the rest of his house, seeing her care in every little touch; new magazines on the coffee table, the soft, fresh linen on the bed. He began to regret the harshness of his letter. He owed her so much, after all.

But he had done the right thing, he kept telling himself. It wasn't fair on her either, to remain at her house like the ghost at the feast as she was trying to move on.

He suddenly felt exhausted. He had barely slept the night before. His beside clock told him it was only seven o'clock in the morning. There was no way he would make it through an entire day awake.

He peeled off his outer layers, a sweater and a tie, and unbuttoned the top couple of buttons of his shirt. He toed off his shoes and socks.

He flopped down on top of the covers, and before he had even had the chance to take two full breaths, was fast asleep.

()

Phryne brought the Hispano to a sudden stop, and practically vaulted out of it, not even bothering to open the door. She had thrown on what she referred to as her 'midnight break-in' outfit, black trousers and beret, and a long, dark coat with a subtle oriental embroidery on the collar. She had almost dispensed with make-up altogether, such was her desperation to go and sort Jack out, but at the last moment she had decided she couldn't do without her habitual slick of scarlet lipstick. She was dressed for battle.

She stormed down the path towards the bungalow and without hesitation, hammered on the front door.

There was no answer. "Jack!" she shouted angrily. "Jack!" She hammered again.

She sensed a movement within, and stood back as the door opened to reveal Jack, dressed only in a rumpled shirt and trousers, his hair tousled and his eyes bleary. He had obviously just woken up.

Phryne cursed inwardly. She had been expecting cold and defensive Jack, not sleepy and confused Jack. Sleepy and confused Jack was so much harder to be angry with. But then she remembered the letter clutched in her hand and she found that though hard, it was in fact possible.

"" _Warm regards?!""_ She threw the quote at him viciously.

"Wh… what?" Jack looked thoroughly puzzled.

"" _Warm regards?!""_ she repeated angrily, brandishing his letter at him. "Is that all I get, Jack?" Without waiting for a response, she pushed past him into the house, leaving Jack struggling to put the pieces together.

She could see the cogs turning as his still half asleep mind caught up with the situation. But once he shut the door and turned to face her, she could see it had clicked. The guard came up straight away, and he looked at her with a set jaw.

Ah, cold and defensive Jack. Here he was after all.

She had strode into his living room, and stood holding the letter tightly in front of her. He followed her in, his bare feet making no noise on the wooden floor. They eyed each other, like two fighters in a ring.

He broke first. Maybe his defences just weren't back up to scratch yet. Maybe he was still too tired. But he didn't have the energy for a Phryne Fisher set to, not today.

His hands in his pockets, he broke eye contact, and shook his head. "I don't know what you want from me, Phryne," he said quietly. It was true. Why had she high tailed it here at… he looked at the clock…. half eleven in the morning, just to confront him about something he had done in the best interests of them both.

"I want to feel like I am worth a little more to you than this!" she cried, waving the letter aloft, like a prize. "I want to feel, after everything we have been through, you would have felt able to do a little more than slink out of the house in the middle of the night without even having the courtesy to say goodbye!"

"It wasn't the middle of the night." Lethargic as he still was, he couldn't let an erroneous statement go unchallenged. "And I did say goodbye."

Phryne's eyes widened in rage. "You call this goodbye?!" she shouted, waving the letter again.

Jack could feel his frustration rise, and his hands flew from his pockets. "No, I call that – " he pointed at the blasted thing – "the best thing I could have done under the circumstances."

"What does that mean?" Phryne asked, aggrieved. He had put what she could only feel was undue emphasis on the last three words.

"Nothing. It doesn't mean anything, Phryne." He could hear his voice, knew he sounded petty and petulant and weary and was suddenly glad he couldn't see himself through her eyes.

There was a strained silence as each struggled to understand the other's position.

Phryne looked at him, concern building in her. "I really don't understand," she almost whispered.

She felt a sudden guilt for her anger. What if this was just a really bad day, one he so badly wanted to hide from her that he'd run home? She couldn't see any other reason for his behaviour.

"Is this… Jack, is this some sort of setback?" she asked tremulously, ready to go to him.

Jack could see her fear, and whatever their current issues, couldn't let her think the worst.

"No, Phryne, I'm fine."

But her eyes were darting from side to side, ready to admonish herself. "I didn't mean to shout at you…"

"Phryne!"

"I just… I thought you were doing better, the last time I saw you there was so much hope and now…"

"Phryne," Jack walked toward her and gripped her arm reassuringly. "I'm fine. I promise. Yesterday, with Mrs Cosgrove – that all still happened. I know where I am with all that. This isn't about that."

He saw the relief swell in her eyes, only to be replaced with a fierce anger. "Then what is it about?" she shouted suddenly, wrenching her arm out of his grip.

Jack took a quick step back, and blew out a breath. This was ridiculous. He had to tell her the truth before she worked herself up any more.

He put his hands on his hips, trying to stabilise himself as he looked her full in the face.

"I saw you last night."

She widened her eyes in mock surprise. "I know."

"No, I mean…" he grimaced. She wasn't making this any easier. "I mean I saw you in the street. With that man."

She frowned, opened her mouth to deny it and then froze. He saw the realisation happen, right behind the eyes, and he nodded sombrely.

It was almost worse than seeing it again, watching her silently acknowledge the truth of it.

"I see," she said, coldly.

He didn't want to seem ungentlemanly, or bitter, or jealous. So he said; "It's none of my business, I know that. But I thought it seemed a good time to go our separate ways and let you get on with your life."

"That's what you thought, was it?"

"It was." He couldn't place her manner. She wasn't angry anymore, it seemed. Just quiet. In a way, it was worse.

Phryne turned and paced for a moment, before flinging herself into a big leather armchair. His favourite armchair, in fact. She pulled off her hat, dropping it beside her as she ran a hand through her hair, tousling it in what seemed like frustration. "Well." She crossed her legs, sitting up rod straight and shooting him an imperious look that made him feel deeply uncomfortable.

"It's interesting to hear you think that way, Jack. I'll be sure to remember that for a later conversation. But it might interest you to know this in this particular circumstance, you've got your facts quite wrong."

Jack remembered the intimacy he had witnessed the previous night, the easy laugh on her upturned face, his head dipping towards her.

"Really," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Really." Her voice was calm and clear. Despite himself, he dropped down into the less comfortable chair opposite.

She continued. "Remember that time you got drunk and accused me of sleeping with men who wear 'damned cravats'?"

He blinked in sudden embarrassment. "Not entirely."

She considered. "No, perhaps not. But you might remember that in that case, the man in question was… "

"Your father, yes."

"Yes."

"I do remember. But if you're about to tell me I saw a family member kiss you like that…"

"You didn't see him kiss me."

A pause. "Yes, I did."

"You didn't."

Jack reluctantly played the scene again in his head. "I saw him… lean in…"

"And then?"

"And then… I shut my eyes," he grudgingly admitted. He would have admitted too, if pushed, that a small flicker of hope had found its way into his chest. He ignored it.

"Right." Phryne looked grimly satisfied. "Well, Jack, if you had kept your eyes open, you would have seen me push him away, extricate myself from his uncomfortable grip and come inside to look for _you_."

Jack winced. He nodded slowly. "But, then… who was he?"

Phryne leaned back in her chair. "You said it was none of your business," she shrugged.

Jack felt his temper break. He was at the end of his tether, his emotions pulled this way and that. The noise he made as he stood back up could almost have been a growl. "For God's Sake, Phryne! Stop playing games!"

She rose to meet him, incredulity plain on her face. "Me play games? Me?! Who was it that worked himself into a lather over nothing, then slipped out at the crack of dawn rather than just asking me what had happened? And then you have to leave that childish letter – _"I hope you enjoyed the party"_ – oh God, I can see why you wrote that now! - Flinging petty little barbs at me rather than being honest and then worst of all, standing here now and pretending it's _none of your business_!"

She was shouting by the end, and the resulting silence rang loudly in Jack's ears. He felt himself redden. She was absolutely right. He'd been so terrified of his own feelings, so petrified of falling back into the abyss that he'd run away rather than face his fears.

He sat down heavily on the arm of his chair. There was more dull silence before he spoke.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Phryne. I've handled this horribly."

"The understatement of the century, Jack." Her voice, coming from somewhere above him, was still cold.

He shook his head, looking past her into the distance. The only route open to him now, he realised, was base honesty.

"Somewhere along the line, these last few months… I know this doesn't excuse anything… I think I just forgot what hope felt like. I didn't want to even entertain the idea of being happy. I didn't allow it. But last night…" his voice caught and he cleared his throat, determined to give her explanation she deserved. "Last night I did. I let myself think about it. I let myself hope for it. And I realised…" he frowned, "how much I wanted it."

Phryne looked down at him, her eyes softening as she began to understand what he was saying. But she still asked: "Wanted what?"

"Us." The quiet sincerity in his voice was echoed in his eyes when he turned them up to her. Then there was a flicker, a quick roll beneath the eyelids as realisation dawned. "It was about the case, wasn't it?" he said, almost as an aside.

She nodded. "It was Anthony's brother…"

He held a hand up. "You don't… you don't have to say any more." He sighed. "I overreacted. It was just… getting that bit of hope back, you know? It just made it so much worse when I thought I was going to lose it again so soon."

"Jack…" Phryne's voice breathed forgiveness as she put her hand down to his arm.

"No." The resolution in his voice surprised her as he stood, drawing himself up to his full height. "It's no excuse for how I behaved. You're right. I was childish."

"Jack…" it was her turn to look up at him now. "What you've been through…"

"What I've been through is not going to turn into some all-purpose absolution for acting like an ass."

"I was going to say it changes you."

"Yes," he nodded. Then he considered. "Some things."

"Such as?"

"I can no longer tell the difference between hope and fear," he huffed out a small laugh. "If my recent actions are anything to go by."

She put a hand on his chest, a gesture of clemency, but also as a full stop. "You are forgiven," she said quietly. "And now that we have discovered you _can_ let go of guilt, shall we move on?"

He smiled gratefully down at her, letting out a long breath. He let his fingers go to her cheek, nodding in answer to her question. "I'd like that," he said softly.

As his fingertips brushed her skin, Phryne felt her breath catch, and knew he was speaking more generally than to their recent argument.

"So," she said softly. "If it's changed some things: what stays the same?"

"You," he said simply. His eyes, not leaving hers, were on fire. "Still everything."

He saw her eyes swim, the indentations in her lip as she bit into it.

"Oh," she said, breathless. She felt her eyes fill with tears, and she stepped back, feeling like she needed a moment. The anger that had fuelled her had disappeared, and the emotion that had rushed into the void it left was so overwhelming she could barely identify it.

But as she moved away, he pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her and keeping her upright. His body enveloped her, allowing her to press her cheek into his shirt front as she melted into him. Gently, he rocked them from side to side and pressed a long kiss to her forehead. Chaste though the action was, it felt like the most intimate exchange they had ever shared. There seemed to be a whole summary contained in it: his apology, her forgiveness, and most importantly, their shared longing to move on together.

When they eventually moved slightly apart, he realised she had hooked her fingers into his belt loops, locking herself to him. The simple gesture filled him with joy and relief.

"How come, in the end, I found it easier to face Devlin and his legacy than my feelings for you?" he asked wonderingly, his fingers playing with the hair framing her face.

She shrugged. "Perhaps because you had to do the first before you could do the second?"

He nodded wordlessly. She was right. He couldn't give himself to her anything but whole. Not like this.

"If it's any consolation," she said, her eyes shining with sincerity, "it terrifies me too."

It was a consolation. And it made perfect sense, when he thought about it. He could hear his own heart pounding in his ears. If they really were a partnership of equals, was it possible that right now, they were feeling the same thing?

He suddenly felt an irresistible urge to know. With one hand still holding her, he slowly reached beneath her coat with the other, placing his fingers tentatively on her breastbone.

She looked up at him, surprised, until she realised what he was doing.

Beneath his fingers, he could feel the frantic drum of her heart, perfectly in time with the pace of his own.

"So what is that?" he said, his voice low and rumbling so that she could almost feel it through his hand and into her chest. "Fear? Or hope?"

She smiled, her eyes watery. "I can no longer tell the difference," she whispered.

He smiled back.

"So maybe it changed us both?" she said.

"Maybe…"

She felt, rather than heard him breathe the word and then his mouth was on hers, electrifying her whole body in a second. It seemed like an age before she registered his hand slipping over her collarbone to the back of her head, tangling her hair and pressing her resolutely to him, the other at her back.

The sweet taste of him mingled with salt water; tears, she realised, that one or both of them had shed somewhere along the way. She pulled back, needing to breathe. The oxygen rushing to her brain invigorated her, and she grasped him to her again, her mouth devouring his hungrily.

When they next broke apart, she rested her forehead shakily on his shoulder, and found herself looking straight down at them, their hands on each other, and her black suede heels between his bare feet on the wooden floor. She smiled at the image.

It had changed them both. But here they were.


	25. Chapter 25

Previously: Jack and Phryne argued, then made up :)

 **Chapter 25**

Stretching out languidly, her body draped partially on top of his prone body, she knew she would wake him. It might have even been part of her plan. But one week in, she still felt that a minute spent in bed asleep with Jack Robinson was a minute wasted.

She saw his lips curve up in a wry smile as he felt her body stretch and tense over his. But miraculously, his eyes stayed shut. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing." His voice, disused after a night's sleep, was like gravel.

She smiled down at him sweetly. "Of course not. I count on you knowing exactly what I'm doing."

The eyes flicked open. Taking hold of her firmly around the rib cage, he flipped them over so that his face floated tantalisingly above hers.

She grinned, a cat like smile of victory. She could remain here forever.

()

Once they had worked things out, seven days ago, it hadn't been a straightforward tumble from Jack's living room into bed. They were both overwrought and exhausted. That first embrace had been intense, passionate and almost too much. Jack had known he was very close to coming completely undone, and was determined to hang on to the little dignity he felt he had left.

Phryne, understanding, pressed a last relatively chaste kiss to his lips before retreating. "Sleep. Read. Relax," she said, her eyes dancing. "But come for dinner tonight. I can't imagine eating without you now."

Jack reached out and pulled her hips toward him, just for the fun of seeing her as flustered as he felt. She had braced her hands against his chest as their hips made contact, her face upturned to his with surprised pleasure.

"Come _here_ for dinner tonight," he said, his voice low and insistent. The idea of entertaining Phryne here in his own home, felt unexpectedly satisfying. He had been a guest at Wardlow too long. As much as he appreciated its comforts, he felt that spending the night here, the two of them, would be appropriate to their shifting relationship. He felt the need to put a little distance between his appearances in her home, to separate the patient from the… what… the lover?

The thought inflamed him and he reached down to kiss her again.

When she eventually pulled back, she looked feral, lips swollen and bare, eyes dark and full of emotion. "It would be my pleasure," she murmured.

So she had left. And come back. And they had talked. He had told her about his previous desire to get back to 'normal', the internal list he had made to get back to being 'the old Jack.'

"But why?" She looked thoroughly confused.

"I wanted to get back to where we were before," he said. "What happened, it ruined everything."

She had looked sad, and he pulled her off the arm of his favourite armchair and into his lap.

Her arms around his neck, she tried to explain. "What happened was… a tragedy, Jack. If there was anything I could do to bring Celia and Lucy back, I would."

He nodded. Of course she would. Anyone would.

"But, once it happened, there _was_ no going back. Not for you, and not for us. To do that would mean ignoring it completely. There would be some part of you, inside you, that you kept shut up and locked away. You would walk and talk and look like the old Jack, but it wouldn't be a real person."

He stared at her in shock. She had just described, exactly, the way he had been after the war. Trying to maintain that façade of who he had been before, distantly aware of Rosie's growing frustration that she just couldn't reach him anymore. Going through the motions, that's what he had been doing. Until Phryne Fisher had breathed new life into him.

He realised with a start she was still talking. "The only thing you can do is accept what happened, let it change you, and hope that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Moving forward isn't a bad thing, Jack." She smiled. "After all, the old Jack couldn't do this." She leaned forward and kissed him sensually, her tongue demanding entry into his mouth and mingling with his.

"What?" she said, when she pulled back and registered his open mouthed and slightly awestruck expression.

Jack shook his head. He felt the phrase _"you've just explained the last ten years of my life"_ might be slightly overwhelming for this first night. Instead, referring to the kiss, he said, "I did once, actually."

"Twice, actually," she corrected, smiling.

"Twice!" he said, triumphantly.

"Well," she said, playing absent-mindedly with his collar. "Do you want to be old Jack, who did that twice? Or new Jack, who gets to do it…"

He raised his eyebrows.

"… lots," she finished, with a grin.

He returned her smile. "Definitely new Jack."

She stayed that night. And the next night. And it was everything they had dreamed of.

()

 _The eyes flicked open. Taking hold of her firmly around the rib cage, he flipped them over so that his face floated tantalisingly above hers._

 _She grinned, a cat like smile of victory. She could remain here forever._

But it wasn't to be this time. He pressed a hungry kiss to her mouth, then he was gone, padding across the floor to where his clothes had been tossed into a forgotten pile the night before.

"Jack!" She moaned, sitting up and letting the sheet fall from her body. She feasted her eyes hungrily on the muscles in his back as she pulled on his clothes.

"I know…" he murmured sympathetically. "But I have somewhere to be."

She frowned. Pulling her sheet around her, she got out of bed. "But it's early."

He smiled at her confusion, buttoning his shirt as she approached him. "I have to go home." They were back at Wardlow this time. The greater privacy afforded them by his bungalow had been bliss. But there was a lot to be said for Phryne's home too, not least her large, soft bed and Mr Butler's cooking. Last night, delighted by recent developments, he had pulled out all the stops with a sumptuous dinner that had satisfied even Jack's appetite.

"Anyway," he continued. "You have to go and pick Jane up, remember?"

"I hadn't forgotten!" she protested. "Her ship doesn't dock till this afternoon." She looked up at him, a hopeful expression on her face. "You'll be here this evening, won't you? Family dinner?"

A shy but pleased smile spread slowly across his face. "Of course. If you want me to be."

"Of course I want you to be." Her hands went to his shirt front. "I don't see why you have to leave now."

"Because I need to go home to – _Phryne!_ " She had taken advantage of his attention to his cuffs by quickly undoing all the buttons at the front of his shirt. "That doesn't help, does it? I need to go and pick up a suit," he finished.

"It helps me," she smirked, eyeing his chest as he turned towards the mirror and buttoned himself back up. Then she registered his words. "What do you mean, you need to pick up a suit? What do you need a suit for?"

Jack had shown very little interest in any new career options, in fact, he hadn't mentioned anything at all during the week they had spent practically in each other's pockets. She frowned, hoping he wasn't about to throw himself into some ill-advised and unfulfilling job opportunity.

But his smirk in the mirror as he did up his top button told her otherwise.

"Jack?" she prompted.

He said nothing, but tilted his head pointedly towards the dressing table, over which his tie had ended up draped the night before. She grabbed it and held it out for him, snatching it back at the last minute.

Their eyes met in the mirror, and she looked at him sternly. "Jack?"

He turned to face her. He was smiling, but his eyes, she noticed, looked nervous. "Well, I can't very well go before the Chief Commissioner without a suit, can I?"

A wide grin spread across her face. Wordlessly, she draped the tie around his collar, balancing out the ends and beginning to knot it.

He was watching her carefully. "What do you think?" he asked, his tone serious.

"I think you're right," Phryne replied. "You can't possibly go in front of the Chief Commissioner without a suit."

"Phryne…"

"You know what I think," she said, folding his collar down. She looked him in the eye. "Detective Inspector Robinson."

He bit his lip. "Let's see if he'll have me back first, shall we?"

"Of course he will." She was relatively sure of it, considering Hugh had been telling her constantly that the Chief Commissioner was desperate to have him back on the force. "Jack – ?" she drew his attention back from fiddling with his collar. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Jack rolled his eyes good naturedly. "Must you be so contrary?"

"I'm not trying to talk you out of it. I just want you to be sure."

"I am." He said resolutely. "I've known it since I spoke to Lucy's mother."

She nodded. So much had changed since then. Five days ago, the _Globe_ , prompted by her letter and a dozen like it, and no doubt by Prudence's veiled hints to Lady Matlin, had printed a lengthy apology for their coverage of the Devlin case, admitting that the police had been hamstrung by the silence of the man who had supressed his knowledge about Lucy being carried into the office building. Phryne had been slightly aggrieved that the paper had refused to name him. But, as Jack pointed out, maybe Bertram Harper had just learnt his lesson. The only man really to blame for the murders was Alfred Devlin. But even though Melbourne had only now recently started to see sense, she knew Jack's decision had been made that day in the graveyard. It was Mrs Cosgrove's courage and determination that had inspired him, had made him refuse to give up what he loved. She was glad for it. But even though she'd been hoping for it for weeks, she felt an unexpected trepidation about his decision.

"But what if… what if there's another case like…" He had to do what felt right, she knew that. But all of a sudden, she couldn't bear the thought of him retreating again, being sucked back into that dark place.

His face had momentarily disappeared, obscured by the sweater he was pulling on. When he reappeared, he looked thoughtful, his brow creasing as he smoothed his hair back down. He caught her eye in the mirror and sensed her concern.

He turned and reached for her, pulling her sheet-wrapped body close to his.

"Lucy and Celia…" he said softly. There was always a reverence when he said their names. "I'm always going to carry them with me."

She nodded. "I know." And by extension, she knew, she would always carry them with her.

"But they don't…" he frowned, trying to phrase it. "They don't haunt me anymore. And what happened… it shouldn't stop me helping anyone else. They wouldn't want that, I don't think."

It was almost a question. Phryne smiled. "I think you're right." She felt quite tearful, at him expressing all the things she'd been thinking for so long. How far he'd come. How far they both had. She snaked her hands around his neck, drawing him in for a kiss.

Inspector. He was going to be her Inspector again. She grinned against his lips, and felt him respond. "I'd better go," he whispered.

She let go of him. "Yes, go!" she said brightly, blinking back tears. She caught him noticing and beamed widely, letting him know they were good tears. He gave her a tender smile back.

Clad in her robe, she followed him down the stairs, giving forth what she considered to be motivational titbits.

"They'll have you back in a shot! How the Victorian police force has survived one day without you I'll never fathom. You'll return to an absolute crime wave, I'm sure of it!"

He turned to face her at the front door, an amused smile on his face. "You haven't even wished me luck," he quipped.

She laughed. "How remiss of me." She pulled him in for a final kiss. "The job's yours," she promised, when they reluctantly broke apart.

There was a low hum in his throat as he released her. "Just as well," he said, the hint of a smirk on his face. "You were beginning to think yourself the only detective in Melbourne, Miss Fisher. And we can't have that."

There was a sharp slap on her rear end, and he was gone. She shut the door with a delighted laugh and stood for a minute against it, savouring the moment.

She smiled widely. Jack was back.

THE END!

Author's Note:

A massive thanks to all of you who read, reviewed and enjoyed this story. I really hope it hit the mark. Thanks also to Jack Daniels who provided much of the sour mash necessary to produce this work :) I really enjoyed writing it so please let me know what you think - feedback is such a massive inspiration.

Gingham xx


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